The Visitor
by BKL8008
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, parents were left without children, and children left without parents. Molly Weasley returns, grieving, to an empty Burrow, haunted by the ghosts of Weasleys past. Everything has changed, and not for the better. Then the Visitor arrives, a wayward child with no home, no family, no name. Perhaps only he can help the Weasleys rediscover joy.
1. Chapter 1-Ghosts of Weasleys Past

The Visitor

**Chapter 1**

**Ghosts of Weasleys Past**

Monday, August 31, 1998

"May I have your attention, please?!" Headmistress Minerva McGonagall tapped her crystal goblet with her butter knife.

A hush fell over the crowded Great Hall of Hogwarts, which had magically expanded itself to accommodate the crowd. Late evening sunlight spilled in through the newly restored stained glass windows, and overhead, the enchanted ceiling shone with the promises of purples and oranges of a coming early autumn sunset. It reflected off the polished flagstones of the floor, many of them new, causing blinding hotspots that made many to look away from their radiance.

In fact, most of the Castle itself shone with the same luster of recently repaired or replaced parts. For the whole of the summer, hundreds of volunteers had donated their time, money, and magic into restoring what was, for many of them, a sacred place. It had also come as no surprise to most of them, that the Castle itself seemed to be 'healing', magically repairing its own war wounds here and there, when no one seemed to be looking. There were even theories proposed that Hogwarts itself might even be self-aware.

At long last, the seemingly hopeless smoldering ruin of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was again ready to receive students.

"On behalf of the Board of Governors, Caretaker Filch, the staff and students – many of whom I am sure will be lamenting your efforts by the day after tomorrow – may I offer my sincere appreciation and gratitude for your help?" Headmistress McGonagall waited for the applause to quiet a bit. "It is with some reluctance, however, that I must ask everyone to make arrangements to depart, as school takes up again tomorrow and we must prepare!"

There was a deafening cheer, as adults and children at all four tables applauded.

At the Gryffindor table, however, one exhausted lady put her head down on her folded arms and sighed.

"Merlin's dirty _laundry,_ it's finally done!" She swore. "But do they have to be so loud?"

"Mum, are you quite all right?" Ginny Weasley asked.

Across the table, a serious young man pushed up his glasses and gave her an appraising look as he finished off his custard and the plates from the celebratory feast vanished.

"You've been working too hard, Mum," Percy commented clinically, "You don't look well at all!"

"PERCY!" Arthur snapped at him in surprise at his bluntness. "Have a bit of respect!"

"Tha's our Percy," Charlie commented to Bill.

Molly, however, waved them off. "No, no, Percy's right, dear. I think I'm just getting too old for this sort of thing. I feel like I'm about to fall over!"

"After raising all of _us_?" Ron laughed, continuing to sneak nervous glances at Harry, who was currently holding his infant Godson Teddy. "Not very likely, Mum! You could have fixed this mess single-handedly!"

At Ron's side, Harry snickered.

Molly looked up sharply. "You're doing that all wrong, Harry!" She suddenly snapped. "_Give_ me that baby," she reached across the table to snatch Teddy, who didn't even bother to wake up. His hair, however, did turn shockingly red. "You have to keep the blanket folded under him too, like so," she went on, ignoring the rest of Professor McGonagall's speech as the Great Hall began to empty out. For the life of him, though, Harry didn't see what he'd been doing wrong. He'd held the baby just like Andromeda had taught him.

When Molly stood, however, she swayed a bit.

"Mum, let me take him," Ginny offered, not waiting for a reply as she took Teddy.

Molly Weasley looked at her daughter for a only a instant, standing there holding the baby with Harry at her side. She closed her eyes. Another wave of vertigo, and then it passed.

Someone was taking her arm.

"Mum, I'd like to see the memorial one more time, before we go," George whispered in her ear.

"Yes," Molly sniffed, "Yes, that's a good idea, Fred, just one more time, shall we?" She agreed, taking his offered arm in her own as he led her from the Hall.

No one had the heart to correct her as Teddy's hair turned blue and he began to cry.

"Yes, let's go," Andromeda Tonks agreed, taking Harry's arm as well.

"Ahhh, I remember all the trips we made down this way, Molly," Arthur said, after having finally taken their leave of the children, and walking down the lane towards Hogsmeade Village, well away from the new anti-Apparation zone of Hogwarts. "Are you sure we shouldn't just Apparate from _here_?" he added, noting how many little stumbles his wife had made after her insisting that they walk a ways. "Sometimes, I think you just don't know when to quit," he shook his head, after receiving no response.

Molly dabbed at her eyes with a dainty handkerchief. "I just need to see it all again, before we go," she finally answered flatly, as they entered the village proper.

She turned and looked back.

"It's all finished, isn't it, dear? Nothing left to do, except get the children here tomorrow." She sighed again, "I do hope that Ginny has all the things she'll need!"

"I'm sure she does, love," Arthur agreed. "In fact, she's _already_ here! Be a bit silly to go to Kings Cross, just to ride back!"

"There's nothing left to do," Molly repeated, her eyes fixed upon the castle in the distance. It was a long while before she turned back to the village.

All around them, there were signs of homes being repaired, and businesses being reopened as villagers were returning to a normal way of life free of Death Eaters. Honeydukes was open again, as was Gladrags and even Madame Pudifoot's tearoom.

"Shall we go in?" Arthur asked, remembering how it had once been her favorite place to go on those Hogsmeade weekends so long ago.

"Oh, I don't think so," she declined in a small voice, looking all around, apparently as lost in her memories as her husband was. Now and then, one or the other would point something out, and say something like "remember when?". But it was clear that the other had been paying no attention.

Up ahead, near the square, they spotted a young lady passing out flyers to anyone who would take one. "And remember, there are still several children who need your help!" The lady was saying, "Orphans, the displaced, those too young for Hogwarts, anything you can do!" She went on, giving flyers to passersby. "We're also in need of donations – shoes, clothing, food, money, anything you can do," she was telling a young couple who had just come up. "Perhaps even foster care? We have so many children left homeless by the war."

She then turned to the Weasleys.

"Anything you can do, please?" she repeated, offering them a flyer.

With a trembling hand, Molly took it.

The header read: "**The Charity Burbage Shelter for Displaced Magical Children**", and the Weasleys recognized the name of the Muggle Studies professor who had been recently been lost in the war. There were a few paragraphs of text, mainly asking for donations, and even requests for temporary homes for the children. Below that were several black and white pictures of children without names, most of them sullen and having not been looking at the camera. They ranged in age from teenagers to infants, but they all shared the same lost look.

For a moment, Molly stared at the flyer as Arthur offered the lady a bit of money. For the Weasleys, it felt extremely good to be able to give something. Given the success of **Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**, and with only one child left to support, their lives certainly had changed from their poor status of only a few years before.

"I…I have…I should clean out the old things from their rooms," Molly mumbled, as an unexpected teardrop fell onto the flyer. "Our children are all…all grown," she managed with sniff. "Ginny's in her seventh year now, Quidditch scouts for the Holyhead Harpies sniffing about this season, no doubt. I wonder if Harry might even prop-…"

"Let's not toss any babies out with the bathwater, now, love!" Arthur interrupted her, although he didn't really seem surprised. "Although I _could_ use the extra space!"

"Yes, I…I think so," Molly nodded, gently running her hand down the flyer over the many pictures of children displaced by the war. "They're not babies any more."

Several little faces didn't look back at her; they were all looking way.

Children without parents.

_Parents without children_, Molly thought, realizing that after such a busy summer of staying with Andromeda and Minerva while the Castle was being repaired, or even camping on the lawn with so many other volunteers, that she knew what she'd find when they finally returned home.

The Burrow would be empty.

She made to put the flyer in a pocket, then glanced at it again as a sudden breeze nearly took it from her hand.

One little boy near the end of the row of images was looking right her with a rather comical, if not confused, expression.

_Teddy's picture could have just as easily been on here, _Molly realized, wondering just how many children hadn't been so lucky as her new "grandson", as Harry had deemed him. Granted, they had been close to the Lupins, but Teddy wasn't really a Weasley._ And neither was Harry, _she reminded herself. Molly wondered who would be the first to present her with her own grandchildren. Again, she saw Ginny standing next to Harry with Teddy in her arms.

"Oh, and how many do you have?" The eager young lady asked, thanking them for their generous donation. Arthur, it seemed, was even more surprised when Molly had snatched the coin purse and given it all to her.

"Six," Molly replied, in barely a whisper, turning to look back at the school where one could just see the tip of a marble spire stained deep orange in the sunset.

Then the couple linked arms, turning and vanishing on the spot.

The Burrow _had_ been quiet that night, and in the morning, Arthur let his wife have a lie in as he got ready for work. It was an odd sensation, as the Ministry had pretty much been running on a skeleton crew during the refit of Hogwarts. Arthur thought he might have put in a whole week of work over the summer, having spent the rest of the time at the wrecked school. He decided to grab something for breakfast along the way, as even one of his spells for making coffee might prove disastrous and he had long since been barred from the kitchen and performing any household magic. He might have been able to charm a Muggle automobile to fly, but all the Weasleys knew not to ask him to even attempt to fry bacon!

As he slipped away, the Burrow remained quiet on the morning of September 1st. The only sound to be heard was the ticking of Molly's exceptional clock.

Upstairs in their bed some hours later, Molly bolted awake some time later and immediately began screaming out names as she realized what day it was.

She was halfway down the stairs before the quiet hit her like a rogue Bludger and she stopped.

There were no Weasley children to send off to Hogwarts this year.

"Oh, _well_, then…" she mumbled, unsure of what to do next as she made for the kitchen.

But she found nothing to do there, either.

The Burrow was quiet as she stared around the empty rooms.

She listened to the clock tick, lost in her thoughts with wand poised over a cup of hot water for the longest time.

Eventually, the water went cold.

But wasn't there something?

"Mummy?" A tiny voice asked.

The door burst open with a loud BANG! against the wall, waking baby Ginny from her afternoon nap. She began to wail at once, as two red-haired young boys covered in mud and worse came running in shouting at one another. One of them was carrying a busted child's broomstick.

"You took that turn too fast jus' to toss me off into the pigpen, Billy!" Charlie shouted at his older brother, shaking mud off his hands and all over the rug.

"DID _NOT_!" Billy protested, tracking mud on the floor to add to his brother's.

"DID _TOO_!"

"You tell Mum that, an' I'll tell her you're teaching the garden gnomes to say bad words, Charlie!"

"AM _NOT_!" Charlie shouted back.

"AM _TOO_!" Billy retorted.

Ginny wailed.

Before Molly could rise from the kitchen table, another little boy came panting and puffing in the door at a run. "Mummy, what does lop-eared-goat-f****r mean?" Percy asked, as the Muggle Spellotape that held his glasses at the bridge gave way. "Oh, bollocks!" He added, picking up the two pieces.

"_**Language**_!" Molly exclaimed, shocked. "Where did you hear _that?!"_

Percy and Charlie both pointed at Billy, who tried to look innocent. He failed miserably.

"Biw-wee sedd a bad wurt!" the Twins began the chant, pausing just long enough to sniff, and glancing over at Ron, who had decided to cut his teeth on a wooden building block from their toy set. "Mummy, Wonnie need'a new nappie!" One of the twins, Fred or George, she didn't _know_ which, declared.

"Are you sure, Fred?" Molly asked.

"_I _not Fwed, he is!" George corrected her.

"AM _NOT_!" His twin disagreed with a grin.

Ron began to cry as if this were all news to _him._

The cat then jumped on top of the stove, knocking over a pot, and scalding its tail as half-done potatoes and water went all over the floor. The cat shot out the window with a screech. Ginny continued to wail. Ron (who _was_ in fact in need of a new nappie) cried on, too.

"Do you smell something, Mummy?" Charlie asked, and they turned to see smoke coming out of the oven.

"Oh bloody…" Molly shouted.

"Language, Mummy," Percy interrupted her.

"Never a dull moment," Molly sighed, as she triaged the disasters that were the norm of a typical day at the Burrow.

"_Charlie_, rock your baby sister back to sleep!" She ordered, handing off the clean baby to the filthy boy – who was soon to be filthy herself! "_Billy_! Change Ronnie's nappie!" She added, aiming her wand at the stove as the fire went out and the potatoes floated back into the pot. "_Percy!_ Reparo!" She fired on Percy's specs, wondering at her husband's silly idea of fixing them himself. "Muggley'things'," she wondered. "Accio, cat!" She fired the spell out the window, "Petrificus totalis! Episky!" She fixed the frozen beast's tail, then released it. The cat shot out the window again, scattering chickens in its wake.

"Goood job, Mummy," the Twins congratulated her, having not done a thing while just taking it all in.

For the moment, peace had returned to the Burrow.

"Oh, your father will be home any moment now, and I've not even started the pudding!" Molly lamented, just as the Dutch door opened and Arthur peered in.

"Happy anniversary, dear!" He called jovially, handing her a bouquet of flowers. Molly took them, sniffed deeply, and smiled. "Thought I'd come home early, and…"

"Arthur, love, remember when you said you wanted eight children?" Molly asked sweetly.

"_Yes,_ dear?" Arthur asked excitedly.

She then hit him over the head with the flowers.

"_NOT_ GONNA HAPPEN!" Molly informed him.

Arthur paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the twins playing, Ginny being rocked, Ronnie getting a new nappie, and Percy sitting quietly reading a book. "So, how was your day, dear?" Arthur asked sweetly.

"Charwie taught da gnomes to say 'f*****'," one of the twins offered. "Wha's a 'f*****', daddy?" the other asked.

"Where did you hear _that _word?" Arthur demanded of Charlie, who pointed at Billy.

"Evan's daddy said it after school!" Billy protested. "I didn't know!"

"DINNER!" Molly interrupted, "I'm afraid it's a bit done, though," she added clinically, taking the sight of the slightly blackened roast chicken as plates and silverware wafted over to the table.

"NOOOOO!" Charlie screamed, glancing out the window at the chickens in the yard. "IT'S BERTHA! YOU COOKED BERTHA!" He wailed, which set off Ginny and Ron again. "I'm gonna be a vege-table-arian!" He then declared.

"Welcome home, dear," Molly kissed Arthur's cheek.

And then they were gone.

Just like a Pensieve that has exhausted its stored record of memory, the ghosts of Weasleys-past evaporated before Molly's eyes.

The Burrow was quiet again.

In the far corner, the clock struck eleven.

Molly glanced at the six hands. Three of them pointed at 'work'. Two pointed at 'school'. One pointed at 'mortal peril'. Then it moved back to 'work'.

"George, testing products again already," she wondered, staring at the hand with Ron's image on it – the hand that for so long the last year had read "lost".

For just a moment, she thought to pack him a lunch.

But there was a hand missing from the clock.

For the longest time, she just stared at it.

But the six hands did not move.

Tick…tock…tick…tock…tick…tock…

It was September the First, and Molly Weasley thought she heard a train whistle in the distance as she absently picked up an old copy of the _**Daily Prophet**_. The headline read:

**"****Harry Potter to be Hogwarts' New DADA Teacher****!"**  
**Will it be enough to break the curse on THAT job?!**  
**Minerva McGonagall as Headmistress & Head of Gryffindor,**  
**Horace** **Slughorn to remain on for Slytherin House!**

It was September 1st, and Molly Weasley was not at Kings Cross Station.

"Excuse me?" The piping voice of a little boy then asked, and Molly jerked her head around. "Could you…I mean…could you tell me…how to…?" A boy with messy black hair and taped-up specs was asking her. She blinked.

"Well, of course, dear! Now…" She turned with a startled gasp.

But there was no one there.

"Teaching DADA, and he didn't even know how to catch the train then?" Molly said to no one, as she put the paper back down on the coffee table. "Silly," she chided herself.

The clock ticked.

She made herself a cup of coffee, transfigured it into tea, and then changed her mind again. As she made her way back to the sitting room, she noticed a few envelopes on the windowsill and realized that she'd missed the morning post owl. She gathered them up, turning on the radio as she sat down to read them.

"And now, for all you exhausted parents just getting back from Kings Cross, Celestina Warbeck sings the Muggle classics!" The announcer said, "Painful as _that_ might be," he added, and Molly thought she knew that voice. "River," of course, from the Potterwatch WWN show. Lee Jordan, she recalled; George's friend.

'And it's Ginny Weasley taking the Quaffle, she's charging up the pitch like a madman! MadWOMAN, that is! She shoots…She scores!"

But she wasn't really listening to the wireless as she scanned the various advertisements, discarded the newspaper and a few greeting cards, until her eyes fell upon another flyer from **The Charity Burbage Shelter for Displaced Magical Children.**

Again, those sad little black and white faces that wouldn't look at her.

Except for one.

She wondered what color his messy hair was, badly in need of a trim, as he smiled a lopsided smile at her.

On the radio, Celestina's voice went into a crescendo:

"…I had a dream that life would be, so different from this hell I'm living! So different now from what it seemed, now life has killed the dream…I dreamed." The voice of Celestina Warbeck faded off.

The clock continued to tick.

She stared at the flyer until the clock struck twelve. "Well, there's no help for it," Molly decided, as she started up the stairs, wand in hand.

Bill's and Charlie's old rooms had since been converted to guest rooms, so there was no point in inspecting them. Besides, anything of Bill's would have been passed to Charlie, and the things that survived that ordeal would have ended their lifespan with Percy. Anything that somehow could have miraculously still endured would have surely not survived Fred and George, however!

Still, Molly looked inside the room.

A studious little boy was sitting on his bed, wand in hand, with a book in the other. Even from his first year, Billy had been fascinated with Charms and enchantments – and how to break though them. She'd almost expected to see him sort into Ravenclaw, really, and had complained numerous times that Arthur's clandestine concealment of the boy practicing at home was setting a bad example.

She chuckled as she remembered when Charlie, all of ten years old, had tried to sneak into his brother's room to peek at his school things and had sprouted a puffy white tail and rabbit ears when he'd fallen victim to this older brother's first successfully laid protective Ward on his bedroom door.

Really Mum, don't you think I'm a bit old for 'Billy'? 'Bill' sounds more mature.

And now her eldest was head Curse Breaker at Gringotts, and Goblin Liaison. He'd married Fleur Delacour only a few years earlier, and Molly wondered just when they were going to present her with a grandchild. She shuddered as she recalled the attack at the wedding – that awful day that Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone on the run.

The clock struck one.

But now there was nothing left in the Burrow of her two eldest sons, save for some notches carved on a doorjamb to mark their growth. She ran her hand along it, feeling melancholy, as she passed by Charlie's converted room. She wondered if that boy would ever marry, or if he were too in love with his dragons in Romania to bother with a wife? Hagrid's favorite little visitor, she recalled, remembering when he'd written home to his father inquiring about how he might procure a fresh dragon's egg as a Christmas gift for the Gamekeeper.

Mum? You'll never guess?! I've made Seeker for the Quidditch team!

Percy's room, of course, was ever orderly and clean. Percy's departure had not been on the best of terms, and he'd quickly cleaned out his room, taking only those things that (naturally) were deemed of value to himself. Ever ambitious and cunning, Molly wondered for just a moment that he'd not sorted into Slytherin. In all honesty, she'd almost expected it, really. Percy knew what he wanted, and sadly, being out of the Burrow had been one of these things.

Well, looks like I'm Head Boy! No surprise there!

She packed some old books and magazines into a bag with an Undetectable Expansion Charm. They might not be very interesting reading (**Cauldron Collector, Which Broomstick**?** Potions Monthly**), but she packed them nonetheless. There were, of course, no outgrown clothes to be found. With a sigh, she realized that all of these would have gone to the Twins – and certain destruction.

But in the closet, she found an old small jumper.

On the front was a "C".

But Mummy, my name starts with a "P"? The bespectacled little boy had wondered, upon being presented with his elder brother's hand-me-down. And then, comically for such a small boy, he'd pointed out that We mustn't waste good yarn!

"And he kept it all this time," Molly wondered, as one good Protean Charm later to restore it, into the bag it went. For some reason, this seemed to take some of the edge off of his departure, when Percy had refused to believe them and sided with the Ministry on the topic of Voldemort's return to life.

In the bureau, she found a few more old books, even some Muggle books, and two pair of old glasses. She recalled that this was about the time when their money problems had begun, with two boys at Hogwarts and the little one needing glasses. One old pair had Spellotape on them. "Oh, Arthur," she groaned, and one Reparo later, into the bag they went.

She paused at the next door.

The sign on it read "Gred'n'Forge – DANGER! KEEP OUT! GENIUSES AT WORK!"

Molly's hand hesitated on the doorknob.

"No, no," she finally decided, "That was all given to Ronald," she told herself, realizing with an irrational burst of a giggle that anything she found in the room might be far too dangerous to donate to innocent strangers!

Besides, it was, she knew, George's job – and his right – to clean out this room. It was George who had lost his brother, his twin…that other part of himself. They had been so identical, as magical twins always are, that she'd had to literally ink an "F" and a "G" on the soles of their feet to separate them!

She worried about George.

I'm NOT Fred, **he** is! Honestly, woman, and you call yourself our mother?!

And hadn't it been the Twins who'd figured out that they'd all just helped Harry Potter get onto the train!

Mum…it was Harry who financed our business venture.

Again, she ran her hand down the marked doorjamb. When had they stopped marking them? Had it been in their Fifth Year? The marks seemed to be far too short.

Molly didn't even open the door. She swallowed a little cry and steeled herself.

No, she would not break down again.

Not now.

Not when there were things to be done.

As she entered Ron's old room, she stopped with a gasp. To call the room, that he had so often shared with Harry, a pigpen would have been a compliment. It looked as if it had been ransacked, and Molly suddenly felt herself transported back again.

The last time the room had been opened was right before Bill and Fleur's wedding. From the looks of it, the boys had obviously dressed, gone down to the wedding, and then gone on the run after the attack at the reception. After that had come the Final Battle, and then the refit of Hogwarts. Molly realized, with some trepidation, that it had been almost a year since the room had been cleaned.

Then the smell hit her.

"Oh, holy mother of Merlin!" She swore.

With a flick of her wand, the windows flew open and she summoned a breeze. Clothes were scattered about the room, and the camp bed that Harry had been using was, like Ron's bed, unmade and littered with various items. She flicked something that might once have been a chocolate frog out the window. She immediately threw out the shoes she found, setting fire to them as they hit the ground far below.

"Oh, boys!" She groaned in disgust, wondering if she should even go through the pockets of the trousers she found: 28x30". Harry's. "He was always so small and skinny," she sighed, blasting at all the discarded clothing with powerful cleaning spells and making up the two beds. "Muggles and their chemicals," she groused. "How do they manage?"

Goodnight, boys!

Oh, Mum! Not in front of Harry!

There we are, all snug and cozy!

MUM!

Wh-what are you doing, Mrs. Weasley?  
Well…Harry, I'm not going to hurt you! Haven't you ever been tucked in before?

Mum, he's twelve years old, for Merlin's sake!

Go to sleep, Ronald! Goodnight, Harry.

Goodnight, Mrs. Weasley. Th-thank you?

And Molly remembered the stifled sniffling she'd heard as she'd closed the door. Harry had cried himself to sleep that first night at the Burrow.

They put bars on his window, Mum! Honestly.

"Pray to whatever god you Muggles worship that **I** never find you, Dursleys!" Molly snarled, fluffing the pillows and tucking the corners of the blankets.

Once the cleaning spells had 'set', the surely outgrown clothing went into the bag, complete with whatever other 'treasures' she found. Some loose change, wizard trading cards, a Cannons hat surely too small, **Marvin the Mad Muggle** comics, a small toy dragon, trousers, socks, pants, shirts, hoodies, enough to clothe some older boy, she figured.

Finally, she found the floor. "EXCORIATE!" She yelled, sweeping her wand back and forth, and finally sitting down hard on Ron's bed in exhaustion.

At the foot of each bed was a pair of steamer trunks, revealed by the collection of dirty laundry. "HJP" and "RBW", respectively.

But she did not open them. No, these would be shipped to Hogwarts at once.

She smoothed the bedspread, watching as animated Snitches flew over the garish orange fabric with Chudley Cannons logos.

MUMMY! Mr. 'tuffings is a 'pider! SPIDER! MUMMY! **AIIIIIGGGGGHHHHH!**

You gave him an ACID POP? What WERE you thinking?! Do you SEE the HOLE in his tongue?!

"My, my, it's a wonder Ronnie didn't have a nervous collapse by the time he was six," Molly said to no one, remembering how the Twins had tormented him.

Downstairs, the clock struck three.

A tiny spider ran up the wall.

I…I don't LIKE spiders, Mummy!

And Molly Weasley laughed. She grabbed up her magical bag, now filled to near bursting, and winked at Mr. Stuffings^ the teddy bear, who now sat clean and quiet on Ron's pillow.

"Ginny will be back at Christmas for her things," she said to no one, "Such a neat girl! Such a good girl!" She was chattering away, "No mess in there! Must be off! So much to do!"

As she stepped out into the afternoon sunshine, Molly turned on the spot and vanished.

She emerged at the town square of Hogsmeade, got her bearings, and made her way to the new children's shelter. She entered the front doors to find a group of sullen children milling about the large front room. Some were playing chess, Gobstones, watching the others play, or reading books. Most of them, however, were just staring at the floor or out the windows. They were all dressed in the same plain gray tunics, and the room was unnervingly quiet. Molly was painfully aware of her own footsteps.

"Excuse me," she asked, nervously shifting her bag on her arm. "Who's in charge here?"

"That'd be Ms. Thimblebrass, Miss," an older boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, said without looking up from his game of chess. He did, however, point towards another door at the far end of the room.

"Thank you, Mr. … er?"

"Avery, Miss," the boy replied curtly, his knight demolishing his opponent's queen. "CHECKMATE!" He said flatly.

Molly waited for a moment, but no one else said a word or acknowledged her.

No one, but for one little boy sitting in the sill of a bay window.

She paused, starting at the little fellow with disheveled reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. He smiled shyly, lopsidedly, at her, and Molly recognized his face – he was the only one who'd looked at the photographer for the shelter's flyers – as the boy near the bottom of the list. He was dressed in a gray tunic as well, hugging his bare legs up against himself and rocking in the sunlight that streamed through glass, backlighting him with an almost ethereal glow.

Then he blushed and turned his head to stare out the window, rocking.

Molly shook her head, blinked, and remembered why she'd come. She knocked on the unmarked door, hearing voices.

"I don't care where they came from, or how old they are! Where's that psychologist that St. Mungo's promised me? What? I don't care how busy they are! These are children, for Merlin's sake!"

"Miss Thimblebrass, I can assure you that the Ministry and the staff of St. Mungo's are well aware of your problems," someone's voice from the Floo replied, "Madame Pomfrey from Hogwarts will down at her earliest convenience to…"

"I've got children old enough to BE in Hogwarts!" Miss Thimblebrass snapped back, "WHY hasn't anyone come for them to at least bring them their things they had to leave behind last spring, if not readmit them now that school's taken up again?!"

"Now, Miss, we've been over all that," the voice answered.

"Professor Slughorn assured me that he-…" she interrupted.

"Horace Slughorn has no authority to-…" began the reply.

"FINITE!" She flicked her wand at the Floo, and the green flames went out as the call ended.

"Eh-excuse me?" Molly offered.

"OH! I'm so sorry!" Miss Thimblebrass gasped, offering her hand. "Felicia, Thimblebrass. I'm the, erm, 'Queen' of the Shelter, I suppose," she said, her voice dripping in sarcasm. "Cook, counselor, house mum, nurse, and all around House Elf," she added with a snort. "You can call me Felicia. What can I do for you?"

"I, ah, brought some things," Molly fumbled, handing her the bag. "This and that, clothing, you see, and I…you're running this shelter alone?"

"Yes, you'd think in a village this size, I could find someone to help out," she sighed, looking in the bag and pulling out the orange Cannons cap. "Charming," she added. "Avery will like this."

"Avery?" Molly wondered. "I know that name?"

"Death Eaters' orphan. THERE, I've said it," Felicia admitted, gesturing about the room. "I suppose that's why no one wants to help out here." She conjured two glasses and filled them with cold water from her wand. "Sorry, best we can do. You know the boy?"

"I think we went to school with him," Molly pondered it. "Avery? Slytherin, friend of Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape, I wonder?"

Felicia nodded. "They're all Slytherins, or from Death Eater families. Can you believe that not one person in all of the Isles has offered to care for even one of these children?" She sat down heavily. "I'm sorry. Thank you for the donation," she added. "Aren't you the lady I saw yesterday?"

"Y-yes, Molly Weasley," Molly introduced herself.

"Your family owns the joke shoppe, yes?" Felicia seemed to brighten up a bit. She pulled out the old "C" jumper, fresh with refurbishing spells on it. "Oh, this is lovely!" She sniffed, "Handmade?"

"Y-yes. It…it belonged to my second son, once," Molly replied, her voice lower.

Felicia studied the jumper. "The heating charms here are fairly strong, you see, I'm sure you wondered why…why they're dressed so? Some of them had clothing, but, most of them lost everything when the Ministry seized their parents' holdings and such. It's getting on towards autumn now, chillier, and … and the Ministry feels that…they won't – can't – run away if they don't have wands, shoes, or warm clothing." She sniffled, reaching for a handkerchief.

"Well surely this isn't prison?" Molly gasped. "It's a shelter for children!"

"I'm glad someone sees them for what they are," Felicia replied. "I think to everyone else, they're just mini-Death Eaters."

"Who…was the little boy in the window? The one with the shaggy hair?" Molly asked.

She pointed at the flyer. "Oh, that's Jack. At least, that's what we call him. 'Jack' was the most popular name in Britain for so many years, you see, Jack can't – or won't – talk, so we don't know his real name. He…he was brought in by…Aberforth Dumbledore, he found him eating out of his trashcan the day after the Battle. Took him a week just to get close to the boy, come to find, he'd been staying in the shed with Abe's goat."

Molly's hand went to her bodice and she gasped again. "That's awful! No one knows who he is or where he came from?"

Felicia shook her head. She glanced at the clock. "I wonder how many children's lives that bloody Hat is going to ruin this year, when they arrive at Hogwarts and are sorted?" She went on. "For these children, one word, it seems, had condemned them."

There was a long silence.

Felicia called Avery to come and sort the donations. A moment later, and they heard laughter.

Peering out the door, they saw Jack sitting in his window, playing with the tiny toy dragon from Ron's room, laughing and clapping his hands as it walked around the sill snorting fake fire.

Molly's throat tightened. "Felicia, I'd like to talk to you about Jack," she finally said.

Note:^Mr. Stuffings the bear was created by the marvelous author "TenthWeasley," and he found his way here!


	2. Chapter 2-Weasley vs Weasley

The Visitor

**Chapter 2**

Weasley vs. Weasley

There must be something terribly wrong, thought Arthur Weasley as he made his way up out of the Ministry of Magic, and onto the streets of London, emerging from the enchanted phone booth.

As usual, no one seemed to notice as he appeared suddenly amongst a harried group of commuters. He was just one more body amongst thousands, someone without a celly-phone. Though he was proud of his knowledge of, and considered his clothing to closely resemble that of the Muggle Londoners, he had never quite mastered it. Here and there, as he always had, he'd catch a surprised look on someone. Yet, if they took note of his inside-out jacket, or his shoes that curled up at the toes, they always looked politely away. Choosing instead to ignore the oddity among them, rather than confront him. If his necktie waved at them, however, they tended to take a second look!

Arthur would usually take that moment to steal glances of interesting little bits of Muggle technology and behavior. He found their customs fascinating. But not this time. This time, their celly-phones and laptop computational thingamajigs would have to wait.

Something must have been terribly amiss.

Their own harried owl had arrived, bulldozing it's way past the usual paper airplanes that inhabited the halls of the Ministry of Magic, carrying her message. How it had got in, he couldn't fathom.

The message said,

"Come home quick. Urgent. No time to waste.

M"

The owl had taken one peck at Arthur's fingers, then flown off, before he could check what enchantments had been placed on the bird to get by Ministry security.

Arthur Weasley took it as a bad omen.

Molly never contacted him at work. Not once. She had always been able to handle everything on her own. He racked his mind, trying to think of what could be so important, so... urgent, that she would summon him home in the middle of the day. Not even when Ron had gone missing, had she called him home from work. Not even when the twins stole their older brothers' broomsticks, and had crashed in through the Muggle neighbor's living room window - in front of the entire family sitting down to dinner no less! Not even then.

Only Fred'n'George, he thought.

Molly had always handled things on her own. She was strong. She was independent. There was no crisis that was too much for her.

Yet, something had been off with his wife of late. Perhaps it was simply the death in the family. Perhaps she had finally pushed herself too hard. He shouldn't have let her help so much with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. She always did more than her share of the work. She never took help from anyone, even telling Mr. Filch what he was doing wrong.

Perhaps there had simply been too many memories there for her.

He'd seen her waver lately. He alone had noticed her temper rise where it never had before. It was a subtle line between her usual bossiness and real anger, but he had noticed it rear its head here and there.

But why hadn't she used the Floo? Surely in a crisis, she would do that. If she were in danger, she would certainly Apparate away and contact him again? It made no sense.

Then again, lately, Molly herself didn't either.

Arthur decided for a stealthier approach, just in case. It was a brisk walk to Diagon Alley, and then through the Leaky Cauldron, to the portkey he could use to get home. He huffed and puffed the entire way there. Normally, he would stop at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and catch up with his sons... son. But today he judged he didn't have the time. If Molly said it was urgent, then it had to be. He briefly wondered if he should have returned home with a group of Aurors to help him, but shook off that thought. If she were in that much trouble, she wouldn't have had time to send the owl, let alone cast the enchantments for it to get past Ministry security. Still, he picked up his pace.

He ducked down the alley behind the WWW building, and found the rusted and empty tin of Christmas frosting, waiting for him where it always had.

Arthur Weasley took a deep breath, bent down, and seized the portkey.

After a whirling few moments, and a few seconds of nausea, he lightly touched down in the field outside the Burrow. His home looked to still be standing. Nothing was on fire. There were no dark wizards buzzing the skies. It looked as calm and peaceful as it had when he had left it that morning.

Arthur steeled his nerves, and strode forward. Whatever it was, he would need to face it. Molly needed him. He drew his wand. "Merlin help you!" He muttered, "Whoever you are!"

As he peeked in through the lower segment of the front Dutch door, he could hear Molly's voice coming from the kitchen. She was engaged in conversation of some sort, and her voice sounded lighter and more pleasant than it had in months. Ever since Fred had...

Arthur righted himself, and entered the kitchen. There, he found Molly entertaining a young witch in a lavender robe that looked oddly familiar. Molly was laughing and relating some old family joke to her whilst serving biscuits and tea.

"And then Ginny came down the stairs, took one look at Harry, and she just went EEEP! and fled right back up! And Harry says to us, 'Sorry, what did I do?'"

The ladies laughed ever louder.

Molly looked up as her husband entered. "Oh, finally, Arthur. It's about time you got here. Trouble with the portkey, dear?"

Arthur looked back and forth between the two women not knowing what to make of it. "Ahhh," he said instead. "Who's this then?"

"Arthur, you remember Miss Felicia Thimblebrass? We met her yesterday in Hogsmeade Village."

"Oh, did we?" Arthur struggled to remember the face. When he failed, he instead faked a smile and simply nodded. "Charmed," he said.

Miss Thimblebrass shook his hand daintily. "It is just so wonderful what you and your wife have chosen to do. Things have become so strained in the wizarding world of late that there are too few people with the generosity, and spirit of giving left. Of course, coming from your family, I'm not surprised! You were highly recommended by Headmistress McGonagall and Harry Potter! Such character references!"

Arthur didn't know what to do with a compliment so out of the blue, so he just went on smiling and shaking her hand. "Glad to do it," he tried, hopefully. What the devil did she ask Minerva and Harry about us – and for what?

The young witch let go of Arthur's hand, and turned herself to the intimidating pile of papers next to her teacup. She shoved a quill at Arthur. "All you need to do is sign here, and I can let you lot get down to it. Shall we?"

Arthur looked skeptically to his wife. "Molly?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake Arthur. All the other details and arrangements have been seen to. All we need is your signature," Molly instructed. "Don't stand there with your mouth hanging open, and sign the blessed thing, and Miss Thimblebrass can get on with her good works."

Arthur hesitated, but a nasty look from Molly changed his mind. In another few moments he was making his mark. Felicia turned the pages for him as he did. "And initial here please, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh, yes," he agreed, "Quite. What are we doing, taking out a mortgage? Buying Gringotts stock?" Arthur still wasn't used to having money around, yet.

The women laughed at him.

With all the papers signed, Felicia bundled them up, and inserted them into her traveling bag. "Thank-you ever so much," she said. "These children need all the help they can get. All of them have been through so much."

Molly dabbed the side of her eyes with a tea towel. "Oh, don't thank us, dear. We're only too happy."

Arthur suddenly remembered her. She was the one from **The Charity Burbage Shelter for Displaced Magical Children**. Molly must have made a donation. He suddenly felt a great deal of relief wash over him. Here he had been expecting the worst. "You know us Weasleys," he told the woman, "Always ready and willing to help out in the time of need."

The young witch paused, "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

Molly wouldn't hear of it, "Oh, pish-posh, Felicia, dear. We'll all be right as rain here. We have all we need. All we really need is each other."

"What a lovely sentiment," Miss Thimblebrass agreed. "Then I will leave you all to it. If it is all right with you, I'd like to say my farewells, before I go."

"Of, course you should," Molly emphatically nodded. "Take all the time you need."

As the young witch walked out, Arthur turned to his wife. "Exactly what was that all about?" Then, something odd came to him. "Wait a minute. Who's she saying farewell to? We're the only ones here!"

Molly looked at Arthur as though he had grown a second head, "Didn't you meet him on the way in? Why the poor little fellow hardly makes a peep. You must have walked right past him. He's really the sweetest thing."

Arthur started to feel a bit ill, as the realization came over him in waves. He looked back out to the sitting room, and witnessed Felicia Thimblebrass leaning down in front of one of the comfy chairs near the hearth. As she stood up, she revealed a tiny little barefoot boy, of maybe seven or eight years of age dressed only in a gray tunic.

She ran her hand through the boy's unkempt, reddish-brown hair. She whispered, "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are going to take care of you from now on. Jack, do you understand?"

The little boy smiled up at her, and nodded. There were tears in his deep brown eyes. He suddenly sprung up from the chair, and wrapped his tiny arms around her, as though he never wanted to let go.

Felicia steeled herself, and then slowly extracted herself from the boy's embrace. "Now, be a good boy Jack. They'll take good care of you here."

At last, she moved away to the door. She paused, just before she went out, and turned back to Arthur and Molly. "Please call me anytime of the day or night if you need to. He really is very special, this one." And, then she was leaving, wandering down the way as if on stroll without a care.

Molly Weasley looked over to her husband with pride simply radiating off of her.

"Arthur, are you going to introduce yourself or not?" She went in and stood by the little boy. She refilled his milk glass, and summoned a few more biscuits for his plate with a wave of her wand.

"This is Jack. His parents were obviously lost in the war, poor thing."

"We…we're keeping him?" Arthur wondered, his eyes wide.

Jack shrank back in the chair at his tone of voice, trembling.

"Weren't you the one who wanted eight children?" Molly retorted, her voice icy. "Well, not counting Ginny at school, we had none now. Now we can say we had eight! Happy?"

"Erm," Arthur fudged, noting the scattering of freckles and the fact that the boy needed a haircut. Unsure of what else to do, he bent down to appear not so imposing. "Hello, Jack," he offered his hand.

Jack didn't take it. In one hand he held a biscuit, and in the other, the toy dragon. He was clearly not willing to release either one.

"He doesn't speak," Molly informed her husband, her voice still in a tone that Arthur recognized as a dangerous one. It was the calm, level tone that had once informed him that his sons had flown his enchanted car to Surrey and back to fetch Harry Potter. It was the voice that had once informed him that Fred and George had blown out the south wall of their bedroom. "He's been traumatized." Molly added in that same tone.

"Haven't we all?" Arthur said without thinking, and he realized his mistake at once. "I'm sorry. It's just a bit of a surprise is all, I mean, your urgent owl, and coming home to find…a…a child! I thought…I thought something was wrong! I was in a panic!"

"Was Harry that big of a surprise?" Molly retorted. "You didn't mind when he was here?"

"Harry was different, dear. We knew from Ron's letters that he was coming. Dearest, may I have a word? In private? In the kitchen?" Arthur added, taking her arm. He turned back to Jack. "You, er, just clean up those biscuits, there's a good lad!"

Jack just stared at him, wide-eyed, pressing himself into the squooshy old chair and shoving the biscuit into his mouth. He pulled a throw over his head.

"Arthur, what is wrong with you?" Molly hissed at him, once they were out of earshot.

"You're scaring him!'

"Me?! What's wrong with you?" Arthur replied. "Don't you think you should have consulted me before you went out and bought a used kid?"

Molly's jaw dropped. "Bought…used…? How can you…? We're fostering him!"

"So it's only temporary?" Arthur asked anxiously, and once again, he knew he'd made a mistake. You'd think I'd know better, after all these years, he silently chided himself. But too late.

"Maybe, maybe not," Molly replied, as if daring him.

Arthur just stared at her. "Molly, what's gotten into you?" He asked. "What brought this on? I mean, we come home to resume our lives, I go to work, and the next thing I know, I'm getting an hysterical owl telling me to come home. And when I get here, I find a…this?!" He managed, biting off the last word. "There must be something! What happened?"

"I cleaned out their old rooms today," Molly informed him, and Arthur's jaw dropped. "It was September 1st…" she paused, glancing around the doorjamb to see that Jack had moved to stand and stare at the many framed photos along the mantelpiece. Weasley children of all ages were smiling and waving back at him as he showed them his toy dragon. Harry's fifth year portrait seemed particularly pleased.

"I see," Arthur nodded knowingly. Then he blinked. "So how was Ron's room?" He dared ask, hoping to change the subject as he stared nervously at the little boy.

"Beastly," Molly replied, "I burned the shoes and had to 'excoriate' the floor."

"So I take it you went back to the shelter to donate…buried treasure?" Arthur offered, feeling distinctly nauseous. Molly nodded. "Good Lord, you didn't go in Fred and George's…" he stopped, but too late once again.

"No," Molly replied in a very small voice. "That's for George to do. Besides, I don't think they left much when…-" Neither of them wanted to say it - 'When they left home'.

Arthur considered his next words carefully. "Molly, the point of growing older, you remember, is to get the children out of the house! Not to bring home someone else's!"

"That's what this is all about, isn't it?" Molly said, her temper rising again. "It's because he's a shelter-child? Well let me tell you, Arthur, you weren't there! You didn't see those children!"

"I didn't know you were going, now, did I?" Arthur protested.

"It's not a shelter, it's a prison!" Molly exclaimed, "They took their wands, the older ones what had them, took their shoes, and they've dressed them all in flimsy clothing so they can't run away without freezing to death! They're no more than dressing gowns! You remember the Avery family?" She asked, as Arthur recoiled a bit with a nod. "There's a boy of theirs there, about twelve. I don't know why he's not in school, but he's there. He lost his whole family in the war!"

"Molly, about those children…" Arthur tried to interrupt, but she drove on.

"Miss Thimblebrass was so thrilled to get Ron's old Chudley Cannons cap. She was so sure it would brighten up that poor boy's day! A cap, Arthur! A miserable, sweaty-smelling outgrown cap! You know the Avery family was well to do!"

Arthur nodded. "Dear, after yesterday and the donation, I got a copy of that shelter flyer at work. They're passing them out there, too." He held his hands up. "Let me finish! Now, the **Department for the Misuse of Underage Magic**, Mafalda's office, you know, has information on all these shelter children. Did you know that…"

"They're all from Slytherin or Death Eater families? Yes, Felicia told me," Molly cut him off again. "Seems that all the children with the right names were put in foster care weeks, and even months, ago! I had a long talk with Felicia, you know. Seems that all the orphaned children from the other three Hogwarts Houses are," she looked at the clock, "back, or will be back there – sitting down to the welcome feast and looking forward to nice, warm beds tonight."

"Those Slytherin children like Avery have problems," Arthur offered. "With what they've been through? With what their parents have done to them? Some of the things they've seen? Can you imagine, with what's just begun to come out, having a kid like Draco Malfoy or any of them back at Hogwarts? They're a threat!" Arthur declared. "Merlin only knows how messed up their little heads are! That Avery boy was a Firstie last year, when the Carrows were teaching! Now what do you think they taught him? You heard what Ginny and Neville said it was like! Practicing 'crucio' on Firsties*? Detentions in chains?"

"Keep your voice down!" Molly warned him. "Of course they're damaged! You said it yourself - who isn't?"

"I didn't say I agreed with it – all," Arthur backpedaled. "But if there's children eleven or older in that place, then they're there for a good reason! They need help!"

"They're there because of what their parents did," Molly retorted, her temper rising again. "Did you know that I had to call Andromeda, just so that Felicia could leave the place to come here and meet you? Felicia can't even get a House Elf to help her!"

"Andy didn't take the baby there?" Arthur gasped.

Molly glared at him. "I was there, remember?" And her tone was now very dangerous. "Arthur Weasley, of all the stupid things you've done in our lives, of all the idiotic things you've said, I never…NEVER…expected to hear you say something like this!"

"What have I said?!" Arthur demanded. "That I'm concerned that our honorary grandson might have been exposed to some very mentally ill children, with only one old woman to watch them all?"

"Andy was at school when we were," Molly informed him. Arthur flushed. "And now Teddy is just 'honorary'? What you said?" She went on, beginning to rant, "In not so many words, Arthur Weasley, you have made it abundantly clear how you feel about those children! How you feel about Jack! You walked right by him without even seeing him! And then you refer to him as a 'used kid', and then insinuate that he's got mental problems?"

"You said he can't talk!" Arthur cut in to remind her.

"Well maybe no one's talked to him enough!" Molly defended the boy. "And keep your voice down! He'll hear you!"

"You're the one shouting!" Arthur shouted back.

"You don't want him here because you believe his parents were Death Eaters!" Molly snapped back. "Well let me inform you, in case Mafalda didn't, that no one knows who his parents were! Aberforth found him eating out of his garbage bin and sleeping with his goat! It took him a week to just coax the child in for a real meal and a bath, and then he had to drag him to the shelter!" She held up the flyer. "Mental problems? He's the only bloody one smiling for the camera!"

"I never said…" Arthur began, but being an honest man, he couldn't say it. He palmed his face. "Merlin forgive me!" He sighed. "No, Molly, I don't like having him here. Have they even checked him out? He could be carrying a Curse! He could be ill! There could be any number of things they've done to him! He could be Imperioused, even!"

"I'll lock up the knives tonight," Molly said, and her voice was deadly. "In the meantime, I've got to make dinner and find him some clothing, get him some shoes, make up a room for him. So much to do!"

"I'm going to call the office and see if Mafalda can forward us some information on these children, Jack in particular," Arthur conceded, as he got up to head to the sitting room.

But as he rose and turned, and Molly looked up, they saw Jack standing in the doorway. He was still clutching the squirming toy dragon, and there were tears running down his face. His expression was broken as his bottom lip quivered.

However much he'd heard, it had apparently been too much.

He bolted.

There was the sound of a hard thud, then a scream of pain.

"Dutch door!" Molly exclaimed, and sure enough, Jack was laying on the floor, hands on his bleeding forehead as his toy dragon made a break for it. "Now see what you've done?" She demanded of her husband.

"ME?!" Arthur held out his hands as Molly took the sobbing boy in her arms.

"Just go and call Poppy before you make your office call!" Molly ordered him, clearing the blood away with her wand and trying to dull the pain. There was a nice gash on Jack's forehead, and Molly couldn't help but think of Harry and how often he landed himself in hospital.

When Madame Pomfrey arrived, Arthur called the office. He chatted with Mafalda, they assumed, while Poppy tended to Jack.

"Had the train arrived yet?" Molly asked, watching as the Mediwitch cleaned him up and bandaged his head. For some reason, Jack seemed to not trust her.

"Not yet, it's due any time," Poppy replied. "And I've got to get back, before Professor Potter gets his hands on those poor students. Harry teaching? Can you imagine?" She seemed disgusted. "I'll not catch a day off all year!"

The women had to chuckle about that, but Poppy then turned serious. "I've already examined all of the shelter children," she informed Molly. "They're all in reasonably good health, a bit of malnourishment. This one," she smoothed Jacks hair, "is particularly in need of your talents, Molly."

"Arthur seems to think he's the next Dark Lord," Molly snorted.

Poppy stared at her. "He's clean," she added in a low tone. "You don't think the Ministry would have just corralled them all without checking them out?"

"That's exactly what they did, put them in a corral like unwanted livestock," Molly retorted in disgust.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm checking in on them twice a week," Poppy offered. "Andromeda's volunteered her time while they're still building her new home in the village, and even Narcissa Malfoy has requested to be allowed…"

"Malfoy?" Molly gasped. "HER?!"

"You don't know what she did," Poppy informed her, as Jack began to nod off in Molly's lap. "There's more to Narcissa than meets the eye. Don't you wonder why Harry spent so much time with the Wizengamot during their hearings? And Draco's in pretty bad shape," she added. "They say it's a total nervous collapse."

"What did she do?" Molly breathed, wondering that Andromeda and Narcissa could even be in the same room without a firefight.

"Let's just say that she lied to the Dark Lord, and betrayed him," Poppy whispered, nodding seriously. "She told him that Harry was dead, and in doing so, she summoned the type of Old Magic that Lily did when he tried to kill baby Harry!"

"She betrayed him, for Harry?" Molly breathed.

"More for Draco, through Harry, but the end result was the same," Poppy nodded again, getting up to go. "That's classified, by the way. In the meantime, keep Jack calm, warm, and well fed. I've healed the concussion, so he can sleep all he wants to."

"Ladies?" Arthur interrupted them. "The Ministry is wondering if you can send them some of Jack's blood, Poppy, so that they can have your Muggle Liaisons DNA test it, try to figure out who his parents are? They…they might be looking for him, you know," he added uncertainly.

"It's been over three months, Arthur," Poppy disagreed. "I don't think anyone is coming for our boy, here."

Arthur sighed, holding up his hands to signify that he didn't want to argue.

"Now, just how did this happen, again?" Poppy asked.

"I…he…he ran for the door and whacked his head on the top half," Arthur admitted. "We were arguing. I think I frightened him."

Molly's face hardened as she glared at him.

"I'm not big on the idea of having him here," Arthur confessed, holding up a paper. "All this says is what we already know – unidentified male child, aged seven to nine, found by Aberforth Dumbledore in Hogsmeade, mute, malnourished, measurements, la la la…turned over to the Burbage shelter, May 10th, 1998. Parents unknown, presumed dead, child awaiting foster care."

"He has care," Molly added. "And I've got to report this incident to Felicia, you know! How is that going to make us look?!"

"Shhh! You'll wake him," Poppy reminded her, getting up to go. "And I wouldn't worry about it, Molly. Not until he starts approaching Harry's old record. Arthur, could you?" Poppy asked, "I hate to Floo when I'm wearing white?"

Arthur nodded and dropped the Wards. Poppy Disapparated.

Again, the Burrow was silent.

Molly got Jack another cover, then went to prepare dinner.

In the sitting room, the photos on the mantle all glared at him.

But there was one missing, Arthur saw.

"Over here, dad," the picture said, and he turned to see an 8"x10" framed print of Fred on the end table.

"How did you get there?" Arthur asked it, a lump rising in his throat as he reminded himself that the picture was not really Fred. It wasn't even his Ghost. It was simply a spell to mimic the subject's personality and animate it.

"The boy magicked me down here," photo-Fred replied. "Felt pretty powerful, the little lad did! So, you and Mum adopting, now that you've got us all out the house?" Fred grinned cheekily.

Perhaps that spell works too well, Arthur thought with a pang.

"Fostering," Arthur replied, as he listened the rattle of pots and pans in the kitchen.

"Arthur?" Another picture spoke up, and this time, it was Harry. "My toy dragon flew out the door. Could you summon it back, please? It means a lot to Jack."

Arthur did that. The Hungarian Horntail toy then bit him for his troubles. "Let a child play with this bloody thing?" He swore.

"It likes Jack," Harry said.

"We like Jack," Fred added with a smirk.

"I'm arguing with photographs," Arthur muttered, looking for his box of Muggle Band-Aids.

As dinner cooked, filling the Burrow with wonderful smells, Molly resorted to magic to make something for Jack to wear. She gathered up her remaining yarn, realizing that with most of the children gone, she didn't have much to work with. "Texo extremis!" She cast the spell, and her knitting needles flew to work at once. They danced over the sleeping boy while Arthur read the newspaper, taking Jack's size before they began their work.

The clock ticked.

Dinner cooked.

The needles clicked.

Other than that, the Burrow was quiet.

"Jack? Time to wake up and eat, Jack," Molly coaxed him.

Jack stirred and rubbed his eyes. Then they popped open, and the boy yelled as he looked wildly around the room. He bolted upright, and Molly caught him, taking him in her arms firmly and reassuring him.

Jack's hand went to his bandaged head, and he began to cry again, a low moaning wail that sounded painful.

"Poppy left this for him," Arthur offered a small bottle of willow bark extract potion.

Molly took it without a word and coaxed Jack into taking some. "You're welcome," Arthur said to the room.

"Are you hungry, Jack?" Molly coaxed him, and Jack whimpered and nodded. "Oh, it's done!" Molly added, as one of the knitting needles came over and tapped her arm. She held up what looked like a one-piece sleeper with attached feet. It was, in a word, garish.

"What do you think?" She asked.

"Looks like a Muggle gay pride banner," Arthur answered. Oh, if looks could kill!

"Turn your back, he's shy," Molly told him bluntly, as she got Jack out of his tunic. "Maybe I can alter this thing?"

Arthur snorted, but decided not to press his luck. "It's cute," he offered. "Out of yarn?"

Jack was feeling the perfectly fitting sleeper all over and smiling, however. Then he smiled wider, hugging his arms about himself.

"Let's go and feed you, you're naught but skin and bones," Molly said, taking his hand and leading him to the table. Once there, she used a dishtowel for a bib, just in case. Jack just sat there as she filled his plate, staring at Arthur.

They were having a roast with all the trimmings, freshly baked bread and butter, and there was a chocolate cake for dessert.

Jack grabbed his bit of meat with his hand and shoved it into his mouth, nearly choking before Molly could stop him.

"Slowly, there's plenty!" She told him, cutting the meat into smaller bits while Jack chewed on a slice of buttered bread.

"Watch me, now, Jack," Arthur offered, holding up a fork. Jack recoiled and began to tremble, but he did watch Arthur. He put down his bread and picked up his fork. He poked a potato with it. He held it up and nibbled at it. Then he put his hand on the potato and pulled it off, and held it to finish eating it. "It's a start," Arthur nodded.

Molly said nothing. She just sat and watched Jack eat. When Arthur would take a bite, so would Jack. When Arthur would use his napkin, so would Jack. When Arthur took a drink, so would Jack. In a few minutes, it became comical as the boy learned table manners.

One large potato, two large carrots, two slices of bread, and a serving of roast later, and Jack was nodding in his chair.

"Well, he's a quick study," Arthur pointed out, hoping for an answer as Molly put a small slice of cake in front of him and refilled his milk glass. "You'll make him sick, he's probably not used to so much food," he added.

"He'll be fine," Molly finally spoke up. But her voice was now softer. "I wonder what the others had to eat? Perhaps the Hogwarts House Elves took them their leftovers?"

Arthur sighed.

THUMP! SPLUT!

Jack had gone facedown in his half-eaten cake.

"I think someone needs a hot bath, and then bed!" Molly decided, hoisting the limp boy from his chair. "Clean up, would you?"

"Guess I will?" Arthur nodded. "Which room are you putting him in?"

"Does it matter?" Molly asked flatly.

"No, I just want to know, in case there's an emergency, love," Arthur answered.

"I think Percy's, it's just right for him," Molly decided. "And don't forget to lock up the knives!"

Arthur sighed. But he did put a Ward on the kitchen cabinets.

Later that evening, Molly sat near the hearth rocking a sleeping Jack in her lap as Arthur tended to the animals, checked the Wards, and prepared to shut down the Burrow for the night. As he came back in, the Floo turned green with an incoming call.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley?" Harry Potter's head appeared in the flames. Jack woke up, looked at it, and blinked a few times. Then he laughed. "Who's this?" Harry asked.

"Our foster child," Arthur answered, "What can we do for you, Harry?"

"Sir, is my trunk still there?" Harry asked. "And Ron's? We sort of forgot about them, and we need them."

"Oh dear, I forgot about those!" Molly apologized.

"I'll send them right over," Arthur nodded, flicking his wand to summon them.

"You might be a few things short, Harry, dear," Molly said, "I cleaned out that room today."

Harry leaned in closer, resolving his image into a 3D floating head. "Oh no! I totally forgot how we left it!" He gasped, but Molly just laughed. "So, you've got a foundling?" Harry wondered. "That's good!"

"Harry, how did the Sorting go?" Molly had to ask.

Harry hesitated. "Slytherin only got three kids total, two girls and a boy. Over half the House didn't come back, and Professor Slughorn's really down about it. The boy, Scott, his family had gone to America when the war broke out, you see, and…" Harry paused.

"What's happened?" Arthur asked.

"He…he got lost in the castle, sir, and someone…he's in hospital, sir," Harry fumbled. "Someone beat him up pretty bad."

"And so it begins," Molly sighed, holding Jack a bit tighter.

"When I find out who did it, there's going to be a staff hearing about expulsion," Harry added quickly. "I won't have this sort of thing, just because the kid made Slytherin," he nodded. "We've got to get a handle on this before it goes out of control. Malcolm Baddock's already had a panic attack, and he's having to repeat his fourth year. It seems…the Baddocks were caught hiding a refugee Halfblood Hufflepuff, Tucker, I think is his name. We…we just found out that the Carrows tortured the information out of Malcolm last term. I'm sorry," Harry added quickly, "I should let you get on with your evening, and I don't think a child should…" He shook his head, scattering embers. Jack laughed and clapped his hands. "What's he _wearing_?" Harry had to ask.

"I was low on yarn, and he had no clothes," Molly explained. "Harry, that shelter is a mess! You and Andy need to do something about it now! That poor Miss Thimblebrass has her hands full! Not to mention students that weren't welcomed back?" she added darkly.

"What?!" Harry gasped. "There are Hogwarts students at the **Burbage shelter**?"

"Avery, for one. Slytherin, I'm told?" Molly explained. Arthur rolled his eyes. "He was a Firstie last term."

Harry nodded. "There's only a few Thirds and no Seconds in Slytherin," he informed them. "As I said, that House is a disaster. I'm worried about Professor Slughorn, Ma'am."

"Harry, you are of age, you are an honorary professor, and practically our son," Arthur put in. "Would you please stop with the formal terms of respect? You're making us feel old!"

"Give me a bit, won't you…Arthur?" Harry tried it out uncomfortably. "And I'll look into this matter with the shelter, see if I can send an Elf or three down there. Thanks for telling me. We've heard nothing from the Ministry on our missing students."

"Imagine that," Molly snorted, as Jack just looked on. Then his toy dragon flew back down from the mantle.

"Say, that's my Tri-Wizard keepsake!" Harry pointed out. "I see he's got a new friend? Watch out, he may bite!"

"**I **know," Arthur sighed again, holding up his finger.

"Well, I have to go, Molly, Arthur," Harry tried it again.

"Give Ron and Ginny our love, and Hermione too!" Molly waved. So did Jack.

"G'bye!"

"BYE!" Jack piped up, and they all froze.

"He talked!" Arthur observed.

"Bye!" Jack repeated, as the dragon crawled into his breast pocket to hide.

The Floo went back to a normal fire as Molly got Jack on his feet. "I think it's time someone was in bed."

"B-bed?" Jack asked.

"Honey, is 'Jack' your real name?" Molly asked anxiously. "Can you talk to Molly?" she pointed at herself.

"J-Jack?" Jack asked. "Jack…yah-jah-kubb!" He declared.

"'Jacob'?" Arthur asked softly.

"Me!" Jack/Jacob nodded, smiling.

"You think it might be because of all the conversation he just heard?" Arthur wondered.

"Could be, there wasn't much talking at the shelter," Molly nodded. "But now it's time for bed!"

Jacob led her to the bookcase, though, and stood there scanning it. "He can read?" Arthur wondered, as Jacob pointed. A book flew down to his hand: **The Tales of Beedle the Bard**.

"Apparently he's not a Muggle?" Arthur wondered. "That'll narrow the search!"

"I guess so?" Molly agreed, leaving Arthur standing there wondering. "Jacob?" He wondered, thinking about the tone of the child's voice and his slight accent. He snapped his fingers and scowled. "Yes!" He hissed, "That's got to be it! 'Yah'-cobb'! I'll run that by Mafalda tomorrow!"

But Molly and Jacob were gone.

"Guess I'll go to bed," Arthur shrugged.

***A/N: Neville mentions this in DH2, the film. Detentions mentioned in the book.**


	3. Chapter 3-Toys

The Visitor

**Chapter 3**

**Toys**

A/N: The Babbitty Rabbitty tale is a copy, paraphrased as Molly reads it. Full credit to JKR! See wiki link.

**Warning:** Canon child abuse is mentioned from DH2; Arthur recalls this.

"Bed?" Jacob asked again, holding Molly's hand and looking around the small room once occupied by Percy. There was a bed, a bureau with a small lamp, a nightstand, and a plain area rug on the floor.

"This is your room, now, Jacob, and we'll get some things tomorrow to help you move in and make it your own," Molly repeated, turning down the comforter and patting the bed. She stared at the strange boy for a moment, his hair reflecting more red in the warm glow of the lamp. She smiled.

While Jacob was obviously toilet trained, he hadn't been really sure how to brush his teeth properly, but he'd been fascinated when Molly had transfigured a stick into a toothbrush for him. What was more surprising, was that when the boy had put it down, the toothbrush had turned back into a stick without her magic. Now he was staring around Percy's old room in wonder, even though there wasn't so much as a poster on the blank walls.

"You don't wet the bed, do you?" Molly asked, coaxing him in and pulling the red and gold comforter over him.

"No," Jacob answered, smiling. "Story?"

Molly sat down on the edge of the bed and took up **The Tales of Beedle the Bard**. How long had it been since she'd read a bedtime story to a child? Ginny was seventeen now, so she figured at least eleven years. She opened the book to "Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump" and began to read.

Jacob's toy dragon poked his head out to listen, too.

"_A long long time ago, in a land far far away, there was a mean Muggle King who decided to keep all the magic in the world for himself. In order to get all the magic in the world, he needed to capture all the witches and wizards in the world, so he formed the Brigade of Witch-Hunters, armed with packs of wild dogs."_

"No!" Jacob shook his head. So did the dragon.

"_But first, he needed to learn how to use magic, so he called for someone with magical powers to teach him. No real wizards or witches responded, but a Muggle pretended to be a wizard, and offered to teach him, despite not knowing any magic himself._

Soon, the Muggle teacher demanded money and treasure for his services, and he hid all these things in his small house. Babbitty, the king's washerwoman, hid and watched the Muggle as he pulled two twigs from a tree and later pretended these were magic wands.

_While the king and the Muggle were practicing, they heard Babbitty laughing hysterically from her little shack. This enraged the King, who demanded that the Muggle help him perform in front of his subjects to show off his new magical abilities. The Muggle tried to back out by saying he had to go out of town, and couldn't help him, but the King threatened to send the Brigade of Witch-Hunters after him, and if anyone laughed while the King was performing, the Muggle would be beheaded. The Muggle headed to Babbitty's house, where he spied on her, and found out that she was a real witch. He asked her to help him, or he'd expose her to the Muggles."_

"Muggles," Jacob agreed, wide-eyed. "Bad king."

"_Amused, Babbitty agreed to help out the poor Muggle King. He told Babbitty that she would hide in the bush the very next day, and make it seem as if the King himself could do magic. So Babbitty did that. While they performed the next day, the crowd was astonished by the disappearance of a hat and a levitating horse; then, one of the members of the brigade asked if the King could make his dead dog return to life. The King tried, but Babbitty did nothing, because she knew no magic that can raise the dead. The crowd laughed at the King, and the King wanted to know why the spell wasn't working. The Muggle King pointed to the bush, and said that a wicked witch was blocking them. Babbitty ran from the bush, and when the hounds chased after her she disappeared, leaving the dogs barking at a tree."_

"Wic-wicked witch?" Jacob asked.

"It's just a story, dear," Molly assured him, and Jacob yawned and nodded. His eyes began to droop.

"The Muggle then told the crowd that Babbitty had turned into the tree, and that the tree must be cut down, because she was an "evil" witch. The crowd went wild, and the tree was cut down. As the crowd started to leave, they heard a cackling coming from the stump. Babbitty told the crowd that real wizards and witches cannot be cut in half, and that they should cut the Muggle in half to prove it. The Muggle confessed he was a fraud, and Babbitty told them that the King was cursed, and he'd feel an axe stroke every time a witch or wizard was harmed. So the King made a proclamation declaring that witches and wizards were protected and that they must not be harmed. Babbitty demanded a statue be built of herself, to remind everyone what had been decreed. The King promised it would be done, and erected a statue of her made of gold. Soon after, an old rabbit appeared out of a hole in the stump with a wand in its mouth, revealing that Babbitty has been hiding in her Animagus form, and she left the kingdom. Forever after, the statue of Babbitty remains on top of the stump, and no witch or wizard was ever hurt in that kingdom ever again.*"

Molly closed the book and placed it on the small nightstand near the lamp. She adjusted the sleeping boy's covers, and kissed his cheek. She dimmed the lamp, leaving just a dull glow for the boy, and quietly slipped out, leaving the door slightly ajar. "Oh, I hope he was asleep before the cutting people in half part," Molly whispered to herself. "What a ghastly story to tell a child! And to think, Ronald used to just love this?"

Downstairs, the clock ticked on.

Upstairs, Molly got ready for bed, humming softly to herself.

"How is he, then?" Arthur asked, studying a Muggle magazine on auto repair.

"Asleep," Molly replied curtly.

"Molly, I'm sorry, it's just that…the war and all…you know, we didn't ask the security question when I got home?" Arthur offered. "You might not even be who you say you are," he tried to tease her.

"I've been wondering the same about _you_ all evening," Molly replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I mean, anyone who would charm an old Austin Healey Muggle auto to fly…"

"It was a Ford Anglia!" Arthur corrected her. "Good one, Mollywobbles!" He grinned.

"Well, at least we know who we say we are," Molly agreed, but when Arthur moved to touch her, she turned away. "If you wake up in the night, would you check on Jack?" She asked.

"Jacob," Arthur corrected her again. "Yes, dear," he sighed, turning off his lamp and deciding that now was not a good time to mention his suspicions about the boy.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Again, the Burrow was quiet.

Until three in the morning.

Screaming awoke Molly and Arthur, and Molly rushed to Jacob's room to find the boy standing on the bed, back to the corner, and waving his arms wildly as if fighting something off. The toy dragon was flying around his head, belching fire, and the bureau, rug, lamp, and nightstand were all whirling in the air. Molly tried to enter the room, dodging the lamp, which shattered against the wall. Jacob continued to scream as the bureau smashed through the window, falling three stories to shatter on the lawn.

Molly aimed her wand. "FINITE!" She shouted, and the rug and nightstand fell to the floor. The toy dragon landed on the bed and hid under the covers, and Jacob stood in the corner, wild-eyed and sweating, gasping for breath.

"What the devil?" Arthur wondered, standing with wand ready in the doorway.

Molly went to the boy and took him in her arms. "It's just a bad dream, Jacob," she assured him, trying to calm him down. "Arthur, go and get him a glass of warm milk with nutmeg," She ordered, finally pulling Jacob down. He let her hold him, shaking and sobbing.

"Mummy!" he wailed. "Mummmmmy!"

Arthur returned with the milk, and Molly got the boy to drink it, smoothing his hair and drying off his sweat-soaked sleeper and blankets with a charm. Arthur then repaired the lamp, replaced the rug, fixed the nightstand, and decided to worry about the bureau in the morning as he repaired the window.

"It's just random childhood magic," Molly assured them both. "Remember when Ronnie did that when he was four? Oh, it must have been that horrible story about Babbitty Rabbitty!" She fretted. "Arthur, see if you can find a copy of that Muggle fellow's stuff, Ditzey, is it? The one about the puppet who comes to life? Or the flying rhinoceros?"

Arthur rolled his eyes as Molly got Jacob tucked back into bed.

"Are you coming?" Arthur asked.

"Mummy, nohhhhh," Jacob whined, sitting up and refusing to let her go. He was still shaking. "Bad man, bad man," he kept repeating.

"It was the story," Molly assured her husband.

"Yes, dear," Arthur agreed with a sigh.

"I think I should stay for a bit," Molly nodded, and Jacob relaxed.

"All right," Arthur tried to keep his feelings out of his voice, but he failed. He awoke alone in their bed that morning. Molly's side was cool, meaning that she hadn't come back to bed. She'd stayed with Jacob. "'Mummy' indeed," he mumbled to himself, as he got ready for work. "I think I liked him better when he didn't talk!"

He found Molly already in the kitchen, fixing breakfast.

"Morning."

"Morning. What'r we havin', then?" Arthur asked.

"Spam and eggs with toast," Molly replied. "One of those Muggle things you like."

"Lovely," Arthur nodded. "So, are we going to _encourage_ this 'mummy' thing?" He came right out and asked.

Molly turned on him, waving her spatula like a wand. She opened her mouth, but stopped. She took a deep breath. "He had a nightmare, and he wanted his mother. It's only instinct, to cry for your mother," she told him. "Besides, isn't it wonderful that he's talking?"

"Yes," Arthur had to agree, if only for the reason that it would make it easier to subtly interrogate Jacob later. He decided to change the subject. "So what are you doing today?"

"Taking him shopping," Molly answered, flipping some fried Spam at him. "He needs shoes and clothes and toys."

"Toys, Molly?" Jacob asked, toddling into the kitchen with a smile as if nothing at all had happened only a few hours ago. Molly's face fell; Arthur caught it, blinking at the garish sleeper. Jacob then attacked his breakfast, again carefully watching how Arthur used a knife and fork and napkin. When Arthur took a bite, so did the boy. When Arthur sipped his drink, Jacob imitated him.

When Arthur announced that he was leaving, Molly simply nodded and wished him a good day.

"I'll let you know if I find anything," He called back, on his way out the door.

"Bye!" Jacob waved, but Arthur didn't reply.

Molly sighed. "Now how am I going to dress you to take you shopping?" She asked Jacob.

Jacob picked at the front of his colorful sleeper. Molly laughed. "Of course! Am I a witch, or aren't I?"

Moments later, and she returned from Ron's room with his orange Chudley Cannons bedspread. She had Jacob take off his sleeper, then wrapped the boy in the comforter and aimed her wand at him. The result was an awful orange hoodie with a Chudley emblem, and she then transfigured his tunic into a pair of knee-length shorts. "Best we can do for now," she mused, nodding at the poor little waif. "Wish I hadn't burned those shoes," she added.

Jacob just laughed as she then tried to do something with his hair.

"Ginny!" She then exclaimed, and sure enough, there was a pair of forgotten pink trainers in her room. Molly was able to downsize them, but it appeared that Ginny had magically stuck the color.

"Ewww," Jacob declared of his new footwear.

"Have you ever been here before?" Molly asked the boy, as they emerged from the Floo of the Leaky Cauldron.

"No," the boy answered.

"Molly!" Hannah Abbott greeted them. "So nice to see you! Who's this?"

Molly introduced Jacob, and Hannah blinked. "Oh, my! Neville told me! This is the boy that Aberforth found?" She then offered him a fizzy drink, which Jacob accepted. He took a drink, then burped, which was enormously funny. Several other patrons just glared at them.

"Hannah, dear, shouldn't you be back in school?" Molly asked.

"I'm thinking about it, Ma'am, but I really have to work right now and make some money," Hannah confessed.

"Molly!" A old lady called out.

"Run for it!" Hannah hissed, intercepting Doris Crockford before she could corner Molly and the boy.

Their first stop was Gringotts, where Molly made a withdrawal. The Goblins still gave her odd looks, given the prior financial state of the Weasley family. However, George's deposits were formidable now, and with Goblins, that commanded some respect. Out of curiosity, Molly asked the Goblin who took them to their vault about the rumors of funds and estates that had been seized by the Ministry.

"It is tied up in probate, Madame Weasley," the Goblin answered.

"Ride! Ride!" Jacob laughed all the way, which brought a smile to even their host's face.

Their first priority was shoes, and Molly had an idea. They headed straight for George's shoppe, where George and Angelina (still basking in their honeymoon phase) were pleasantly surprised to meet their new little foster brother. George fitted him with de-charmed Snapping Socks, and a pair of Wallwalkers – high top trainers that were perfectly normal shoes, until you started trying to walk up a wall with them*. Jacob was delighted, either with the new shoes, or to be rid of the pink pair.

"I see we're starting him off right, with the Cannons shirt?" George wondered.

"It's a transfiguration, only temporary," Molly explained. "Oh, George, I'm afraid you father's not taking this well at all."

"How so?" George asked. "I've never known Dad to dislike a child?"

"He thinks the boy is the next Dark Lord, or something," Molly explained.

"I'd heard rumors that only the Slytherin kids were left at that shelter," George nodded. "But surely Dad understands that the _child_ didn't do anything to anyone?"

Molly shook her head. "I'm afraid not. He's been harassing Mafalda Hopkirk for information on the boy, but no one knows who he is. He's just started talking, but I don't have the heart to try and get any information out of him." She smiled at her son, taking his arm as Jacob walked across the ceiling above them. "That means a great deal to me, George. I…I'm growing fond of him, you know."

"Give Dad some time, Mum," Angelina suggested. "What with the war, Ron being missing, Percy being…"

"Being Percy," George cut in.

Angelina nodded. "And not to mention Fred," she looked lovingly at George.

"Perhaps you're right, this was very sudden," Molly agreed somberly.

"We're doing our best to supply you with grandchildren, Mum, honestly," George then winked at her. "I keep putting the dough in the oven, but it just isn't baking!"

"GEORGE!" Angelina gasped, and they all laughed at that.

"Give Dad time, he'll come around," George assured his mother, when they were ready to leave, and Jacob had been thoroughly searched for any Wheezes that George might have planted on him.

As the boy had no need of formal wear, Molly took him to **Gladrags** where a young sales clerk, well versed in Muggle attire, managed to outfit the boy with several changes of fashionable clothes. Jacob showed that he was a typical boy in this respect, as the new clothes shopping soon lost its appeal and he was more than ready to leave when they were finally done.

Their next stop was **Flourish & Blott's**, where Jacob insisted on a copy of **Fantastic Beasts**….

"Can you read?" Molly asked him.

"No," Jacob replied, shrugging. "Pictures! Dragons!"

"Makes sense to me," Molly agreed, and she bought him the book, along with **Darling Dragons**. She also picked out a few more children's books that weren't nearly as scary bedtime reading, mainly from the Muggle section.

They went to **Muggle Munchies** for lunch, where Jacob was introduced to cheeseburgers and thin chips and more fizzy drinks. The place was crowded, and as he ate, Jacob seemed very interested in eavesdropping on the conversations of others. He didn't interrupt, but Molly had to wonder just how much of it the boy understood.

"I love you," a young man that Molly didn't know was saying to a pretty young lady at the next table.

"And I love you," she replied.

Molly turned the fascinated boy's head away as the young couple then kissed.

"You don't need to watch _that,_" Molly informed him with a huff.

"Can we get some more catsup over here?" Another patron called to the server, holding up an empty bottle.

"Can we get some more…?" Jacob held up his last chip.

"Chips?" Molly asked.

"Can we get some more chips over here?" Jacob asked, and it was his first complete sentence.

"You're listening to them to learn?" Molly realized. "Did you not know how to talk before?"

"I talk…not lots. Nothing say," Jacob shook his head. "Scared."

"Did someone hurt you, Jacob? Is that really your name?" She gently pressed him, as their chips arrived and Jacob covered them in catsup and salt.

"My name," he nodded. "No hurt, just left me. No one come back. Left me. Found the…" he put his fists to his forehead and waggled two fingers.

"Goat?"

"Dumb-door's goat!" Jacob nodded, his mouth full of chips and food all over his face. His new real hoodie, a plain red one, had been thoroughly initiated and already needed washed. "Nice goat!"

"Jacob, what was your bad dream about?" Molly dared to ask him. "Last night?"

"Dream?"

"In your room, when you were asleep last night? And you got scared?" Molly prompted him.

Jacob's eyes went distant. "Cold. Them left me. Not come back. No one talk to. Scared, just me," he explained in broken language. "But me - has be …there, there, there," he pointed all around, seemingly not too upset again. "Molly, me here. You came, them left me."

"Jacob, who left you? Your parents?" She risked it. "Did they go away with some other people, a bad man maybe, and not come back?"

Jacob shrugged, suddenly more interested in the rest of his cheeseburger. "Don'know. Just left me."

Molly considered that the boy might well remember, and that he just didn't have the language skills to talk about it. She decided to consult with Felicia Thimblebrass if she could get the boy down for a nap later, although the dossier at shelter contained no information that they already didn't know.

Jacob was indeed a mystery, but at least he was slowly learning to talk.

For the rest of the day, Molly took him in and out of busy shops. And the more Jacob listened, the more he learned. There were late purchasers of Hogwarts supplies, some returns and exchanges, and many a haggard parent simply wanting a peaceful day off now that school had taken up again. There were no shortages of conversations to eavesdrop on, and it seemed that the more Jacob heard, the more he repeated in complete sentences.

"That will be ten Galleons and four Sickles, please," he parroted one clerk, who gave him a lollipop.

"What does that sign say?" Molly asked him, pointing at the WWW sign down the way a bit as they stopped at Fortescue's for ice cream.

Jacob studied it. He'd seen the word "wizard" all over the place, and Molly had pointed to the names on several of the new toys she'd bought him, spelling them out and then repeating them.

"W-wuh-el-zz-why WIZARD Whee-zees," He stammered, "Wizard Wheezes…" He looked at Molly. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!" He blurted. He screwed up his face in concentration. "You George-Mum?" He asked. Molly nodded. "Your store!"

"Very good!" Molly clapped her hands. "You're a quick study! You might even be able to read you new book tonight!"

"My book?" He asked. "Your book?"

"It's _your_ book, Jacob," Molly assured him. "You get to keep it for as long as you like."

"Mummy, I want nuts and a cherry," a small child was saying, and they turned to see a girl with blonde curly hair standing there at the counter pointing. She appeared to be the same age as Jacob. Her mother was looking very frazzled. Molly watched as Jacob studied them, taking in the holding of hands, how close they were standing, and the care with which the mother handed her child the treat and some napkins. As they sat at a nearby table to eat, Jacob turned to watch them and said, "Hello!"

Molly didn't know the lady, but smiled kindly.

"Hello!" the little girl replied. "I'm Dorothea Dixon. And you are?" She asked properly.

"Me? Jacob." Jacob answered.

"Jacob-what, then?" Dorothea asked, taking a lick of her ice cream. "My, aren't you messy?"

"Dorothy!" Her embarrassed mother gasped, smiling in embarrassment. "I'm _so _sorry! She just calls it like she sees it!"

"Jacob," Jacob replied.

"You must have a last name, Jacob?" Dorothea persisted.

"Do I have …last… name, Mummy?" Jacob asked Molly.

Molly hesitated. Was he just parroting what he'd seen and heard? She thought about Arthur's question. 'Are we going to encourage this 'mummy' thing?' Or was the boy beginning to think of her as his mother?

"He's…we're fostering him, you see," Molly fumbled.

"Oh, you're a war orphan, then?" Dorothea asked.

"Dorothy! That's a horrible thing to ask!" Her mother exclaimed. "We don't _say_ things like that!"

"What …orphan?" Jacob asked, confused.

"It means you have no mum and dad," Dorothea explained. "My aunt and uncle were killed in the war, you know," she added clinically.

"Precocious, isn't she?" Molly mumbled behind her hand.

Dorothea's shocked mother collected her at once, apologized profusely, and fled with the child in tow.

"Bye!" Jacob called after them.

"Jacob," Molly reminded him. "Do you know your last name, now that you're talking, that is? Could you not tell it to Miss Thimblebrass before?"

Jacob's eyes went distant again.

Molly tried a different approach. "Jacob, what is the first thing you remember? Think back to when you were little. A toy? A pet? Before you were at the shelter with the other children? Where did you used to live?"

"Fire," Jacob said flatly. "Man yelling." He then made a sound that Molly assumed meant an explosion, as the boy gestured with his arms over his head. "Fire, bad man yell."

"Jacob, do you remember what the man said?" Molly was almost afraid to ask.

Jacob nodded. "'Give me Harry Potter', he say."

Molly felt her heart sinking and a lump rising in her throat. She fought back a shiver as the enormity of it came to her.

Jacob had witnessed the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Come along now, Jacob," she pulled herself together. "It's getting on in the day, and you must be getting tired," she explained. "I need to speak with someone, now. We need to head back home."

"Home?" The boy asked.

"Where we came from," Molly clarified it. "The house?"

"Oh!"

They gathered up their many bags and headed back to the Leaky Cauldron. On the way to the Floo, however, they ran into a bushy-white-haired, disheveled old witch. "Molly, is that you?"

"Doris!" Molly exclaimed, "Doris Crockford! So good to see you're well!" _Got to get away from this one, somehow,_ Molly thought.

"Well, now who's this little man?" Doris Crockford asked.

Jacob turned around and looked behind him.

"Hello, my name is Jacob!" He offered to Doris, when he realized that she meant him.

"This is our…I mean, Arthur and I are fostering him, he's…he's _Jacob_," Molly shook her head and blinked. "I'm sorry Doris, we were just leaving. I'm not feeling well, and a bit distracted. I think we both need a nap!" She laughed, hoping it sounded sincere.

"I see," Doris nodded, "Word about is that there are several children being seen to by the Ministry, what with the war and all?" She hinted. "OH, and Harry's a teacher now? Hannah says he's quiet taken with your Ginny!"

"Yes, yes," Molly agreed, as Hannah activated the Floo for her.

"Why don't you have one on me, Doris? Just a quick one?" Hannah asked, sensing Molly's urgency.

"Me war orphan," Jacob supplied helpfully.

"No, you're not," Molly corrected him, steering him towards the Floo. "And we say "I"."

"Wha's'a'wrong, Mummy?" Jacob asked, as Molly shoved him into the green flames.

"Come along, Doris," Hannah reminded the old lady.

Back at the Burrow, Molly and Jacob unloaded their many Expandable Bags. With a sigh, Molly decided to sort it all out later as she got Jacob out of his stained clothing and back into his sleeper. One fabric freshening charm later, and she'd convinced the boy to lie down on the sofa for a nap. As always, her instinct proved correct: Jacob was tired, his belly was full, and all the excitement had worn him out. He was asleep in minutes.

Molly went to the Floo and put up a Muffliato charm. She called the Burbage Shelter.

"Hello?" Felicia Thimblebrass answered, sounding tired. "Molly! Is something wrong?"

"No, not really…maybe," Molly began, as she gave Felicia a quick rundown on the day's and night's events. They talked for over an hour. "Felicia," she concluded, "I think Jacob was there, and saw the Battle."

"So he's talking? And his real name is Jacob?" Felicia repeated happily. "And he's even recognizing words on signs? Molly, you are a miracle worker!"

"I don't think so, Felicia, he's a very smart boy. You can see that," Molly disagreed.

"To be honest, we thought he was…defective," Felicia fudged. "All summer long, not a peep out of him. And now he's putting together sentences, just from listening to people talk?"

"Did anyone really talk to him there?" Molly countered.

"Well, no," Felicia admitted. "The children here aren't the most talkative lot." She paused. "He says he can't remember anything from before Aberforth's? From before…the Battle?"

"Not even his own last name," Molly shook her head. "I think this explains the nightmares, though. Perhaps he's blocking it out?"

"He thinks he heard the Dark Lord?" Felicia repeated.

"Word for word, we _all_ heard it," Molly confirmed. "'Give me Harry Potter'. And he says his first memory is of fire."

"That poor child," Felicia sniffled. "Oh, Molly, I'm so glad it was your family that took him."

Molly hesitated. Did she want to tell Felicia about Arthur's feelings on the matter or not? If she did, would Felicia then insist that Jacob be given back to them? She changed tracks.

"Arthur's looking into the matter at the Ministry," Molly explained, "And Poppy got them a DNA sample for genetic testing, some Muggle method, to try and determine who he is. I…I'm afraid he sort of hit his head on the door last night, and we had to call her!"

"Boys do that," Felicia shrugged it off. "If you'll excuse me, I have to see to Cameron, Avery that is. His cousin arrived at Hogwarts last night, Ravenclaw I think it was, and he's quite upset that he can't go back too. Oh, he does thank you for the jumper and the cap though! I almost forgot!"

"The boy I met playing chess? Is he all right?" Molly asked. "Thought he was old enough for Hogwarts."

"No, Molly, he's _not_ all right. He wasn't the best student last year, before…the war, and well, the Carrows punished him for it, Slytherin or not. Something about setting a better example, being the best, all that rubbish? Molly, I don't mean to trouble you with it. It's just that…the poor boy's only just turned twelve, and I think…he needs help, help that we can't give him here. We…I'm just not equipped for it. I must go! Goodbye!"

She closed the connection.

Molly looked at the little boy sleeping on the sofa, and decided to give him an even two hours.

Once again, the Burrow was quiet as Molly sat and just listened to the clock tick.

She put on a load of laundry when Jacob woke up, having dressed him in his new clothes. Jacob then set about sorting his new toys. His favorite, by far, was the kit of brightly colored building blocks that were charmed to not fall down – no matter how crazy of a structure the child tried to build. His toy dragon sat on his shoulder the whole time, watching.

Before they knew it, Arthur was home. A louder than average CRACK! outside announced his arrival, and Molly saw him from the window coming from the largest shed. He was looking all around, securing the doors.

"Well, how was the shopping?" He greeted them jovially, sitting down at the kitchen table. "Where's the boy?"

"Fine," Molly replied, giving him a look. "What's in the shed? They heard that bang all the way to the Lovegoods'!"

"The boy?" Arthur tried to remain patient.

"In the sitting room, playing with his new toys," Molly replied. "The shed, Arthur?"

"Nothing, dear, nothing at all," Arthur answered quickly, which was a dead giveaway that there was something in the shed.

"Mummy, see!" Jacob called, and Arthur snorted, but Molly ignored him and went.

"ARTHUR! Come and see this! Quickly!" Molly called.

Arthur jumped up and ran into the sitting room, but stopped when he saw a model of what looked like a miniature of Hogwarts gone bad in neon colors. Jacob was standing next to a large round can that was half as big as he was, and it was labeled "Neverending Building Blocks."

"Isn't it genius?" Molly complimented the boy, "And when you put them away, the replicated ones vanish so they all go back in the can!"

"How does he know what Hogwarts looks like?" Arthur asked.

"Later," Molly hissed at him. "You won't believe how many words he's picked up today!"

"Hog-wurts, Dad?" Jacob asked.

"You can just call me 'Arthur', all right, boy?" Arthur replied uncomfortably, "And I really think those toys belong up in your room, don't you?"

"His _name_ is Jacob," Molly said in a low tone.

Jacob just stood there, mouth still open. Slowly, he nodded. "OK."

"You've been having him call you 'mummy' all day, haven't you?" Arthur asked.

Molly glared at him, ushering him back into the kitchen.

"Can you _please_ not talk like that in _front _of him?" Molly suggested.

"One of us will fall over those things and break a leg!" Arthur protested. "And instinct? What about _that_? A bad dream, you said?"

"Did you _have_ to snap at him like that?" Molly repeated. "For Merlin's sake, he's talking! Don't you go and shut him down again!"

"I am _not_ his dad," Arthur informed her flatly. "He's a visitor, that's all, _until_ we can find out who his family is. If we get so attached to him, we're only setting ourselves up to be hurt!"

Molly huffed. "So what did you find out at work? Wait, let me guess," she held him off. "He's Voldemort's illegitimate lovechild with Bellatrix LeStrange?"

"That's not _even_ funny, Molly," Arthur gaped at her. "In fact, I didn't find out a thing. With the Ministry just now gearing back up, aside from the Aurors chasing old Death Eaters, things are chaotic. Departments are all backed up from the Hogwarts repairs, and the Muggle world took damage, too, you know. They say it could be months before we know anything from his blood tests. The Wizengamot's up to its arses in work, and Kingsley can't even answer a memo!"

"And Mafalda?" Molly hinted, her voice dangerous again.

"She's identified every single child in the shelter as either the offspring of, or related to, some rather famous names," Arthur informed her. "Some of them were pretty easy, like the Avery boy. Others, like Gibbon, Jugson, Rossier, Warrington, Mulciber – the usual suspects."

"The usual _children_," Molly corrected him. "But nothing on Jacob?"

"She's still digging through files and photos," Arthur informed her.

**CLATTER!**

Molly and Arthur both dashed into the sitting room to find colored blocks everywhere. Literally. The model of Hogwarts was missing its Astronomy Tower, and both of them flinched. "BEGIN!" Jacob yelled. "Fire!" He then kicked the front doors down, and the blocks flew, replicating in a string of miniature Gemino effects. "Give me Harry Potter!" He said, a stroke of his arm shearing away Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Towers.

"Wh-where did he hear _that_?" Arthur gasped, pulling Molly back into the kitchen as Jacob thoroughly demolished his version of Hogwarts.

"That's what I was _trying_ to tell you, before you had him shipped off to Azakaban!" Molly snapped at him. "Once he started talking, he said some things. I've called Felicia, and we agree – the only way he could know, and if Aberforth found him the next night, was if he was _there_! Arthur," she sniffed, fighting back tears as her face contorted with the memories of it all, "Jacob was _there!_ He saw it _all_!"

"Oh, _Merlin_," Arthur sighed, and Molly collapsed into his arms, losing her battle. "Good grief, it's no _wonder_ he wouldn't talk. It must have been…OUCH!" Arthur shouted, as Jacob had landed a good kick to his shin! "What the…?!" He spun Molly around behind himself. "Where did he get a _wand_?!" Arthur pushed her back, and with a practiced hand, drew his. "EXPELLIARMUS!"

Nothing happened.

Jacob stood his ground, the toy wand's tip glowing brightly. He pointed it at Arthur.

"PROTEGO!" Arthur shouted.

"PELL-I-_AM_-RUS!" Jacob yelled back, and Arthur's wand flew out of his hand towards the boy. Jacob caught it. "MUMMY?!" He yelled.

"It's one of George's _toy_ wands, Arthur! All it does is light up! I got it for him in case he got scared at night, in the dark!" Molly explained.

"Well I didn't just _toss_ my wand at him!" Arthur disagreed, rubbing his shin. "You sure he didn't lift one from Ollie's?"

"Oh, so now he's _a thief_, too?" Molly retorted hotly.

They all looked at one another.

"Toy wand?" Arthur asked again.

"Welllll?" Molly offered, genuinely confused. "Give that back to Arthur, Jacob, it's all right."

"Bad man!" Jacob protested, aiming at Arthur again – with his own real wand, no less!

"No, no! He wasn't trying to hurt me! He was holding me!" Molly explained.

"Mummy cry," Jacob shook his head.

"She…she was crying…about you," Arthur fumbled, "About what you did…what you saw? When you said 'fire'? Jacob, when you broke your castle, you upset her!"

Jacob's face fell and he slumped, staring down at his new shoes. "Me make Mummy cry?"

"Yes, but it's all right, dear," Molly cut in quickly. "Now give Arthur his wand back, all right? There's nothing wrong. It's OK."

"Not Ar-tur? Me?" Jacob leaned against the doorframe. He dropped the wands. Very carefully, Arthur retrieved his. Jacob started to cry. He slid down to sit on the floor, rocking and whimpering. "No leave me, no leave me, no leave me," he began to chant.

Molly moved forward, but Arthur stopped her. He bent down and gathered up the trembling boy. Jacob struggled at first, then he collapsed into Arthur's shoulder, sobbing "Sorry, sorry, sorry…"

Molly just stared in confusion.

"You know, that was some pretty good magic, Jacob," Arthur observed. "What with a toy wand and all?"

Jacob stopped crying long enough to pull back a bit and face him. "Me, wizard?" He asked.

"I think so, yes," Arthur agreed, although a bit nervously. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

He flicked the toy wand at the table. "Wingardium Levi_oh_sa!"

Nothing happened.

"Lumos!"

The toy wand lit up.

"Molly, duel please?" He then asked.

"Expelliarmus!" Molly said. The toy wand remained in Arthur's hand. They tried a few more Spells.

The toy wand did nothing for Arthur but for lighting up.

"See, no harm done, except for my shin," Arthur explained.

"Sorry," Jacob repeated, wiping at his face with his sleeve.

"Tell you what," Arthur said, "You go and pick up those toys, and then we'll take the new things up to your room and help you move in properly, all right?" He put the boy down, and Jacob ran to get his things.

"What just happened?" Molly wondered. "Shouldn't we be getting a warning owl about now?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, he's too little," he decided, "And they crossed us off that list long ago, remember?"

"Then _how_ did he do it?" Molly asked in reply, still looking shocked.

"I have no idea, dear, but I'm taking that toy wand in to work to have it checked, then I'm going to talk to George. In the meantime, I think you need to keep a close eye on the boy. Something isn't right here, and he could …hurt himself," he finally added, nodding. "We…we'd best keep him for a bit, don't you think? For…ah…security reasons? What with him being an unknown? If he saw…" Arthur shook his head. "Gods, that explains a lot!"

"So you mean we can…"

"If anyone finds out about this," Arthur cut her off, "The boy would be in danger. That was just the type of thing that would be sure to bring someone …unsavory…out of the woodwork looking for him, I wonder?" He thought for a bit. "Jacob will be safest here, with us."

"_Oh,_ Arthur!" Molly cried happily, and she embraced him, kissing him, as what had come between them in the past few days was…

…was standing in the doorway watching!

"You don't need to watch that!" Jacob declared, turning his head.

wiki/Babbitty_Rabbitty_and_her_Cackling_Stump - paraphrased. Full credit to JKR and the author of the HP wiki page. I did not come up with this bit!*

*The wall-walking sneakers/trainers are seen in the HBP (6) film.


	4. Chapter 4-Percy

**The Visitor**

**Chapter 4**

**Percy**

The Ministry of Magic, Arthur Weasley well knew, was in a state of semi-organized chaos of late. Following the defeat of Voldemort, all resources had been split three ways: rounding up leftover Death Eaters, managing Muggle affairs, and repairing Hogwarts.

With the exception of the Auror department, the last item had been of paramount importance. This had left very few employees to manage the day-to-day affairs of the Ministry, and it came as no surprise that the investigation into Jacob's background was going nowhere.

But Arthur had other things on his mind.

He was worried about his wife. Empty Next Syndrome, he knew, could make women do strange things. Although he knew he shouldn't have been surprised, it had come as a bit of a shock to him to learn that Molly had cleaned out their children's old rooms on the September 1st. He thought back. How many years had it been since they'd _not_ had to run to Kings Cross to send a child off to Hogwarts? And wasn't it always a chaotic fiasco? He pictured the scene of her sitting alone in the Burrow, wondering what to do next. It was no wonder she'd taken all the old things to the shelter…and come home with a foundling.

"There's nothing left to do," she'd said, when they'd finally come home at the end of the summer.

Still, he was bothered that she'd not consulted him first. If she had, he could have told her that the shelter had only 'those' children left. He could have told her that they were all…

"Children," Arthur reminded himself. "Merlin's _pants_, old man, when did you become so petty?" He muttered. "I suppose a war or two will do that to you."

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his thinning red hair, now shot through with gray. He adjusted his reading glasses and stretched, getting up to move about his office as his back popped. "Ooof," he grunted, wondering when _that _had set in. He picked up a stack of papers from the corner of the desk and began leafing through them, sneering as the black and white portraits of Death Eaters pulled faces back at him. He read the names: **Carrow, Carrow, Dolohov, Rookwood, Avery Sr., Avery Jr., Crouch, LeStrange, Lestrange B. (deceased),** and the list went on.

His eyes went back to Bellatrix LeStrange, Voldemort's right hand, killed by his own wife when Bellatrix had threatened Ginny.

This thought lingered in his mind as his eyes went back to the flyer.

Then they fell upon another crashed paper airplane.

Arthur cringed, glancing at the updated flyer to the side of his desk from the Burbage shelter. It was enough to give one chills, the similarity between the two documents. He recognized the Avery boy from Molly's description and his likeness to his father on the Death Eater flyer, and saw that Jacob's quirky little picture was now missing from the new flyer.

Fixing the image of Jacob at the breakfast table in his mind, he scanned the Death Eater pictures.

Arthur thought the boy had the Black family jaw and chin, perhaps Rookwood's nose, and Dolohov's eye shape.

"Oh, bollocks, he looks like _anyone_ if you look hard enough! Hell, he's got _Harry's_ forehead now!" Arthur snorted.

Another paper airplane flew in and crashed into the side of his head. Arthur jumped, thankful that it wasn't an owl. He picked up the airplane and unfolded it.

It was Madame Pomfrey's weekly report on the shelter children, as well as an announcement that St. Mungo's had finally dispatched one Dr. Egretudo – a psychologist – to the shelter.

The report began with "Avery," the children listed in alphabetical order. There was a small St. Mungo's icon at the bottom of the page, with instructions "press here to expand". Arthur didn't want to expand it after reading the summary of Cameron Avery's condition:

_After receiving his trunk and salvaged possessions (excepting his wand) from his First Year, Cameron Avery, aged 12, Slytherin, displays signs of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, claustrophobia, and extreme agitation. He devotes his time to writing out his old lessons over and over, mumbling to himself, and playing chess against himself when no one else will play with him. (He is quite good at it.) Most of the time, he sits quietly; occupying himself with his studies, but is given to bouts of uncontrollable crying and intermittent hysterics at the slightest provocation or error in his work. One example reported by volunteer Andromeda Tonks is when they try to take his cap and jumper for laundering. Given his record of bedwetting and nightmares, and the habit of sleeping under his bed instead of in it, the boy has been prescribed a daily dose of Calming Solution, with Muscaria Extract. Side effects are minimal, including periods of catatonia and increased appetite, along with a few minor delusions. While the boy insists upon returning to Hogwarts, it is our judgment that he is incapable of functioning in such a social setting, and that this will only serve to aggravate his ongoing…_

Arthur dropped the report, unable to read any more of it.

"So don't help him, just sedate him," he muttered, shaking his head as the amplified voice of someone made an announcement for the Wizengamot to reconvene after lunch. "Wonder who it is _this _time?" He wondered if it might be ol' Malfoy, pondering what he thought that Harry Potter might not be telling them in his adamant insistence that the Malfoy family be returned to their home under house arrest instead of being held in Azkaban. Why would Harry be defending his nemesis, and how was it that Andromeda was also insistent that her sister volunteer with her at the Burbage shelter? It made no sense to Arthur, and he was sure that they were all hiding something from him there.

But Harry and Andromeda, he had to admit to himself, weren't the only ones hiding something.

A sudden wave of guilt made him nauseous. In all the years that he and Molly had been married, the only secrets they'd kept from one another had been in the area of gifts or little surprises. He hadn't really ever considered his tinkering with Muggle artifacts to be secrets; Molly simply was not interested in them as he was, and tended to ignore them.

But what was bothering him now was beyond anything like hiding a rusted old Volkswagen Beetle automobile in the shed. It was beyond his plans to generate electricity with a solar panel. No, it was much more than that.

Arthur didn't know how long he could maintain the illusion in his ambiguous attitude towards their little visitor.

Jacob No-Name was the great mystery, and in this postwar time, 'mystery' could by synonymous with 'threat'.

Granted, having the boy in their home seemed to be making Molly very happy. He couldn't begin to imagine how she must feel, even though he himself had been looking forward to some peace and quiet. It wasn't that Arthur didn't love his children, or didn't like children in general. He did. But as he had reminded his wife, the object of the game was to eventually get them all out of the house and moving on with lives of their own.

He sat back down at his cluttered desk. No one seemed to care about the misuse of Muggle artifacts right now, but that hadn't done a thing for Arthur's workload. His department was now picking up the slack in other areas, such as mundane administration. Suddenly, instead of breaking Curses on things like biting toilet seats in public rest areas, he was pushing papers and filing reams and reams of testimony about war crimes.

The files about Colin Creevey needed processed, but Arthur just couldn't do it right then. He pushed the files into a drawer, suddenly recalling that Harry wanted to see a copy of them. It would be violating protocol, Arthur knew, but he also knew that he was going to do it. A sixteen-year-old boy, having sneaked back in to fight…

Still, his mind lingered on Jacob.

Only some days before, the boy had disarmed him with a toy wand. He'd taken the toy to George for analysis, and his son had assured him that it was indeed no more than a toy. So had old Ollivander, and the whole request had amused the old man. He'd also had the wandmaker analyse his own wand, but there had been nothing wrong with it other than needing a bit of polishing. It made no sense to Arthur; he'd never heard of a case where random childhood magic had ever overcome wand-driven adult magic. But that didn't change the fact that Jacob had done it.

He worried that the boy might be dangerous. He worried that his wife might be going 'round-the-bend. After having knitted that awful sleeper for the child (which was his favorite thing to wear), and after their shopping spree in Diagon Alley, he'd only begun to worry more. He dared not say a word against the boy, he'd found out from experience. Any little disapproval of the child would instantly set off an argument about him being prejudiced against all the children like Jacob, which would only upset Molly and the boy even more, thus compounding the issue.

And so it had been, on the night that Jacob had disarmed him, that Arthur had made up his mind to put on airs of accepting the boy and to simply watch and wait for new developments. This had pleased Molly very much, it was evident. She seemed to be back to her old self, which, under other circumstances, would have been a good thing. Arthur wondered, however, if his wife were even in a fit state to care for a child now. Days had turned into weeks, and if Arthur could come up with a word to describe Jacob, it would be "spoiled". Molly devoted almost all of her energies to the boy, and Arthur was beginning to feel as if he were no more than another piece of furniture in their home, or perhaps some type of accessory.

He didn't really like the boy, he certainly didn't trust him, and to be totally honest, he didn't want him in his house.

Such was the secret that tormented Arthur Weasley these days, as he searched for and awaited new information about their little visitor.

But that information was not coming.

No one in the magical realm had come forward to identify or claim the boy.

Jacob's fingerprints matched nothing in the Muggle databases that Mafalda Hopkirk had finally found time to search.

Even the Muggle DNA analysis had yielded nothing, other than the fact that Jacob was a perfectly normal and healthy boy.

It was as if Jacob No-Name had never existed before the war – both in Ministry records, and in the boy's own memory.

Arthur got himself some coffee (an affectation of his Muggle studies), and wandered about his small office, thinking. Memory extraction for use in a Pensieve was far too dangerous for a child, especially one with no training and no wand of his own. The risk of brain damage was severe, and despite his feelings towards Jacob, he would not risk that. Legillimency carried the same risks; there were old case files of the mind-reading practice having been used on children during the days of Grindlewald, and the reports were more sickening than the report on the poor Avery boy at the shelter. In either situation, all of the children involved had been left with serious brain damage akin to the atrocious Muggle surgery known as 'lobotomy'.

And so it was, left with no other choices, that Arthur Weasley waited…and had to admit, that he rather fancied the idea of having a small one about again.

_But what if Charlie gets eaten by a dragon? What if Bill breaks a Curse wrong? What if Ginny falls off a broom? What if Ron…_

_What if Jacob had hit the door any harder than he had?_

Arthur's thoughts again turned to Fred…

September passed into October, the leaves changed and began to fall, and Jacob continued to develop. As Arthur would have put it, he became more and more like a normal boy. His speech improved, although it had taken him weeks to figure out prepositions and to stop referring to himself as "me" and to say "I". He came down to the breakfast table dressed, although this had taken a while in figuring out which was the front of his shirts and trousers. Now and again, he would get the shoes on the wrong feet, but he was learning to be self-sufficient. He could fill his own plate, ate all of his food, and had mastered silverware and napkins. Drinking glasses still gave him trouble, though, and Arthur had pilfered some straws from a Muggle restaurant at lunch one day to solve this problem.

Jacob was also helpful in clearing the table and washing dishes, although magic could just have easily have done these chores. Still, the Weasleys insisted that the boy learn the value of work in such things, in addition to caring for the chickens and other animals, bringing in firewood (Arthur didn't trust him with an axe, _What if he chops his foot off?_), and keeping his room…

This was another area that Jacob had settled right into. He didn't mind having chores one bit. Percy's old room now looked as if Jacob had inhabited it all along, which meant that it was akin to the pigpen. Arthur dared not go in there when he didn't have to, having come up with the idea to read to the boy in the sitting room until he became drowsy enough to go to bed.

There were still some issues, however. Arthur chalked it up to his imagination, but it seemed as if the boy were always following him. Sometimes he even felt like he had a second shadow. And when Arthur would look up from reading the paper in the evenings, as Jacob sat near the hearth playing with his toys or doing his home school studies, the boy always seemed to be looking up and smiling at him with that beatific expression that looked like something on a Muggle painting from the Renaissance Era. There were also the intermittent nightmares; sometimes the boy would sleep peacefully through the night, and other nights, his screams (Arthur joked) had awakened old Xeno Lovegood down the way and over the hill. The odd nights of bedwetting could easily be fixed with a charm, however, and Arthur even confessed to Jacob that he'd had the same problem until he was nine.

Jacob had even discovered Arthur's workshop, where he was introduced to things like duct tape, paper towels, canned fizzy drinks, a nonfunctional television set, and a rusted out Volkswagen Beetle. It hadn't been that difficult for the boy, really. He'd simply followed Arthur out there one Saturday morning when the man hadn't realized that he was being followed.

"Now, we do _not_ tell Mummy about this, Jacob? Understand?" Arthur swore the boy to secrecy.

"Yes, sir," Jacob agreed, as he began his education in things like sockets, ratchets, and of course, and joyfully, grease. By the end of their first day together, Jacob had disassembled the VW's carburetor; the only problem was that after he'd cleaned all the parts, he had no idea how they all went back together again!

In all these things, though, Arthur was patient. Somewhere, out there, he knew, was information on Jacob. Somewhere out there might even be someone who was looking for him.

And Arthur was beginning to realize that it wasn't only his waning distrust of the boy. He began thinking how Jacob's family, whoever they were, must feel with him missing. And this did not sit well with Arthur.

"Molly," he asked one night, as they settled into bed, "Have you considered how we're to handle it _if _someone does come looking for Jacob?"

Molly lowered the book she was reading and looked over her spectacles at him. "How can you ask that?" She replied, although her tone was more of surprise than the anger that Arthur had expected. "If his parents or other family show up, and they are who they say they are, of course we have to give him back to them! _Honestly?!_ Can you imagine if someone had run off with one of the twins, or Ronald?" She almost laughed.

Arthur blinked. "They'd have probably brought him back and paid us to take him," he joked.

And surprisingly, Molly laughed. "Oh, Arthur," she sighed a long sigh, taking off her reading glasses. "You're probably right!" There was a long, awkward silence.

The clock ticked, barely audible up on their floor.

"Arthur, am I trying to replace Fred with Jacob?" She finally said it aloud, what Arthur had suspected but dared not mention since Jacob's arrival.

Then she began to cry. Arthur took her in his arms, and this time, she did not resist.

"Am I…am I going 'round the bend?" She asked, her voice rising, "Oh, Arthur! You weren't here!" She suddenly broke down. "I jumped out of bed, barking orders, hysterical on the 1st, and when I realized there was no one here…"

He held her for a long while as Molly released even more grief, from what Arthur feared might be a bottomless wellspring of pain. Sometimes, when he was alone in those random silences, Arthur could still hear Voldemort's voice:

"Dispose of your dead with dignity. You have one hour."

Arthur couldn't even remember who it was that had carried Fred into the Great Hall. All he remembered was seeing his son's lifeless body in someone's arms, physically carried, and not with magic. Carried back to his parents in the arms of someone who must have cared…

He had heard his wife scream.

And every night, Arthur Weasley prayed to any deity who would listen to him to take that memory from him, and that he would never have to hear that awful sound again – that sound that was beyond the descriptive powers of mundane words in its horror.

_No parent should ever have to face burying their child_, he thought. _No one should ever hear the sound of a mother scream for her lost child._

"What's around the bend is only more road," Arthur waxed philosophical, searching for any words of comfort. In fact, he didn't know what to say or do. When the Battle had ended, the funerals finished, it was if they all suddenly moved on. There had been work to be done, and no more time to grieve. The tears had since turned to dust…

But now there were more.

"Dear Merlin, is that what you thought I felt?" Arthur finally realized, "That you were trying to replace Fred, and that I was angry…jealous of that? Angry that Jacob is here and Fred isn't?"

Molly nodded.

"Oh, Arthur! What if they _do_ come looking for him?" She then blurted, "How can I let him go?" She blew her nose, and tried (and failed) to regain her composure. "I can't lose _another_ child, Arthur! I just _can't_! What if…what if Ginny falls off a broomstick? What if Ronald…does something stupid? What if Charlie gets eaten by a dragon? What if…"

Arthur felt a chill.

"We can 'what if' our very lives away, Molly," He comforted her as best he could, "And in meantime, waste ours – and theirs. Whatever happens, we have to…"

**AAAAAIIIIIGGGGGHHHHH!**

The child's scream snapped them both out of it. Two seconds later, the bedroom door burst open. Before they could react, Jacob was upon them both.

Of course, after seven children, this was nothing new for the Weasleys. Ronald had joined them in their bed for a whole week after the time that the Twins had managed to turn his teddy bear, Mr. Stuffings*, into a giant spider. What had he been – four? Five?

Jacob's colorful sleeper was soaked in sweat, and he was deathly pale and shaking so badly that his teeth were chattering. Between the sobs and the stuttering, as they took him into their bed, they were able to make out: "Mummy, Giants! Great big bad men! Big men stepped on me! Fire and big men, step on me! And spiders! Great big spiders come and eat Jacob, Mummy!"

But the boy's pronunciation of his own name was "yah-cobb."

This time, Arthur caught it. Something clicked in his mind.

"Oh, baby, there are no giants here," Molly assured him, holding him close and rocking him. "And no spiders! It was just a bad dream!"

"Another one," Arthur put in, and he felt a lump rising in his throat.

As he closed his eyes, he saw Fred in those unknown arms again. He heard Molly scream. He saw that look on her face _again_ – the expression that had haunted his own nightmares ever since the Battle.

And Arthur Weasley realized that he himself had not fully come to grips with his own grief as he opened his eyes to see his wife still crying, clutching this hysterical child that was not theirs.

He reached out and laid a hand on Jacob's shoulder.

_The boy didn't hurt anyone_, Arthur told himself, as the child turned to face him with that stricken, tear-stained face.

"Don't let 'em get me, Daddy!" He wailed. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, don' leaf meee…"

Arthur did not correct him.

"It's all right, son, it's all right," he assured him.

They held the boy between them until he finally fell back sleep.

In the morning, Arthur awoke to find a small hand clutching his, as if for dear life.

"There's no help for it," he told himself, carefully getting up and making up his mind. Very carefully, as the room was chilly, he covered the boy and let them sleep on.

He was not going into the office today.

He would go to Hogwarts and get Poppy. Then they would go to St. Mungo's.

Somewhere, no matter how deeply buried, there had to exist a record of Jacob's birth.

And if there were none, he would go and see Percy to start the paperwork, as no one did paperwork like Percy Weasley.

"We either find them, find out what happened to them, get him back to them, or we keep him," Arthur told himself. "It can't go on like this."

Arthur and Madame Pomfrey spent the day at St. Mungo's in the cellar digging through old records pertaining to magical births. They began with children at age ten, and then began working their way down, as no one was certain how old Jacob was.

They found nothing.

"You're sure you want to do this, Dad?" Percy asked, when Arthur presented the idea to him.

"Percy, it's almost Halloween," Arthur explained. "The boy's been orphaned since the Battle, and no one has come to claim him. We've looked everywhere, searched every archive of our records. Minerva's even crosschecked the devices that track magical children from the Head's office at Hogwarts. Nothing! It's almost as if the boy didn't even exist before the Battle."

Percy met his father's gaze. "But there's something else, isn't there, Dad?" He asked. "Besides wanting it to be a surprise for Mum?"

Arthur thought for a moment. "You think we're doing the right thing, Perce?" He asked.

"Oh, it's just smashing," Percy agreed. Then he looked away for a moment. "If anyone understands the errors of their preconceptions, it's me. I…I…Dad, I'm glad you and Mum have worked through this…ah…difficult time." He added nervously. "I'd heard you were having …disagreements?"

"It was rough at first, having Jacob around," Arthur admitted, "But the more we had to deal with _his_ problems, and the more we thought about those shelter kids, it just seems to be the right thing to do."

Percy nodded. "We've tried, Dad. Honestly. We've tried and _tried _to place those kids. When we try to place a boy, they want a girl. When we say we have a girl, then she's too young or too old. You know the drill?"

Arthur nodded. "What they won't come right out and say is that they don't want a Death Eater brat. Guilty," Arthur confessed. "There's just something about him, though, I wonder? You know he was mute when he came to us?"

Percy nodded. "I'd read that in his shelter file, yes. Odd. He picked up on it fairly fast, though, didn't he?"

"He never shuts up," Arthur had to smile. "Reads all his lessons aloud. He still has problems, though. Sometimes he just seems to forget the names of things, and he's got this odd accent when he's excited. Sometimes, when he's wound up, you can't understand a thing he says. You know, it's been on my mind, before he was talking right, he used to talk about himself in the third person. He'd say things like 'spiders were going to eat Jacob' when he had a nightmare. Only he'd say it as…"

"Yah'-cobb?" Percy cut in, his glasses nearly sliding off his nose in surprise. "You know, Dad, just because they spell it like that here and in, say, Bulgaria, Germany, or Poland, doesn't mean that they _pronounce_ it the same way! Maybe," Percy looked thoughtful, and Arthur could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears and hear the gears grinding, "Maybe you haven't found any records on Jacob because you've been looking in the _wrong places_?"

Arthur sat upright and his jaw dropped. "We've had _transfer _students before, I remember Mafalda mentioning it once, what a nightmare of paperwork it is!"

"It is a rather Durmstrang-ish name," Percy agreed, madly scribbling notes now. He snapped his fingers. "Dad! What if Jacob didn't talk when he came, because he didn't understand _English_? Or wasn't very good at it…yet?"

"You think his family might be from the east? Bulgaria, even Russia, or the like?" Arthur gasped.

"Viktor Krum, remember him?" Percy asked. "And you won't find records on Fleur here, either. You'd have to go to Beauxbatons in France for those!"

Arthur palmed his face and sighed. "Gods, Perce, I think you're onto something," Arthur agreed, wondering at how he'd not made the connection with Jacob's pronunciation of his own name. "He does roll his r's and tends to cough, so to say, on certain words."

"Dad, do you _want _me to pursue this?" Percy asked, flicking his wand to check his security wards. "Because I can just as easily sweep this under the rug. He's a foundling in our jurisdiction. Legally, we are not obligated to search any further. Jacob No-Name can become Jacob Frederick Weasley with one stroke of my quill."

Arthur thought about it. They thought about it long enough for another cuppa.

Finally, Arthur shook his head. "No, Perce, it would be like stealing someone's child. Even if Jacob came from a Death Eater family, or sympathizers not locally, it would be wrong to not pursue this. I can't imagine one of our own, lost, and in the care of strangers. I can't imagine being so selfish and cold as to not try just a bit harder. Keeping him would be wrong, if there's any chance at all of finding his family."

"And if Jacob turns out to be from a really…unsavory lot?" Percy had to ask.

"I keep arguing with myself on that, Perce, and I've finally realized that these kids like Jacob are victims, too. He's damaged, yes, but aren't we all?" He finished his tea. "But he's committed no crime."

"No matter the outcome? Dad, you and Mum have to be rock solid certain on this – you can't just send him back like a defective cauldron," Percy warned him.

"Perce, we didn't try to send any of _you lot_ back, did we?" Arthur grinned.

Percy nodded. "You raised us well, Dad," he smiled. "We might mess up now and again, but I wanted you to know that," he nodded slowly, sincerely.

"You'll make the arrangements?" Arthur asked.

"Both sides," Percy agreed. "I'll set up the adoption and bypass Mafalda's office. Besides, it'll have to go through this Felicia Thimblebrass lady, too. If it falls through, Mum will be crushed, though. How does she feel about it…finding his family?"

"We've talked about it, and she said the same thing, son," Arthur explained. "She doesn't have the heart to keep him, if it means making some other mother lose her child," Arthur almost choked, suddenly remembering what Percy had suggested for a name for Jacob. "Thank you, son," he smiled. "She'll love it."

Percy nodded again. "I'll contact Viktor Krum, but something tells me that Ja_c_ob spells his name with a 'k'," Percy noted. "I'm sure that Viktor can use his celebrity to get us into our Comrades' files!"

"Percy, did you just make a joke?" Arthur laughed.

"I think I did, Dad," Percy agreed. "Been hanging around George too much, I think?"

Then he turned serious again.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"Dad, what are we having for dinner tonight? I mean, I've only met the boy in passing, you know. I think I should come and see who's taken over my old room, after all? Maybe help him with his school work?" Percy offered.

"You knew your mother was making shepherd's pie?" Arthur asked.

"I can almost smell it from here," Percy nodded.

"Eight, and don't be late!" Arthur stood and hugged him.

"Am I ever late?" Percy answered with a smirk.

"Uncle Percy is coming to eat dinner with us tonight?" Jacob was asking, as he stood on a stool at the kitchen counter and pounded on a lump of dough that would soon become a light and flaky crust of a large shepherd's pie. He paused just long enough to look out the kitchen window at the cold, gray and rainy day.

"Yes, he is, Jacob," Molly assured him, "You remember which one is Percy?" She gestured at the doorway.

Jacob hopped down and wiped his hands on his apron. Patches of flour were scattered here and there over his red shirt and in his hair, which wasn't so much of a disaster since Molly had taken him to have it styled before having some professional portraits taken in Diagon Alley some weeks before.

Jacob trotted to the sitting room and pointed at the portraits on the mantle one by one.

"Bill, Charlie, _Percy_, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and Harry! The last one is _me_!" Jacob went down the row. "And the baby is Teddy!"

"You know, _you_ were that little once," Molly informed him.

"I don't remember that?" Jacob wondered.

"Children usually don't remember things that happened before they were three or four," Molly told him.

Jacob sighed and went to back his dough. "I don't remember anything before the…the big fight," he mumbled. "Mummy, _why _don't I know anything?" He went on. "Why don't I even know what my real…," he hesitated, "Mum and dad looked like? Why don't I even know my _own_ name?"

"I don't know, sweetheart," Molly hugged him around the shoulders, "But you're right here, right now, and we have to get this pie baking if we want to eat tonight!" She changed the subject.

Jacob smiled and nodded and went back to his work.

With dinner at eight, Percy arrived at seven-thirty, surprising everyone. He explained that he'd had a long day at the office, and hadn't had time to properly tidy up. That, and he wanted to chat properly with Jacob, who took his briefcase, umbrella and hat.

"So, they tell me you've taken over my old room?" Percy asked. "How is it, then?"

Jacob blushed a bit. "Messy, sir," Jacob answered.

"Mum's been teaching you manners, I see," Percy observed, "Very nice, but don't call me 'sir', right then? Makes me feel old. So Jacob, why don't you show me your room?"

"Good idea, you men stay out of the way!" Molly agreed, as she began setting the table.

Jacob was all too happy to do that, taking Percy's hand and leading him up the stairs.

There were now posters on the walls – one of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team, and one of a small Chinese Fireball dragon, which Jacob said was his favorite from his book. His favorite toy was still the model of the Hungarian Horntail, though. The tiny dragon managed to look slightly offended as he sat on Jacob's shoulder, preening.

"Read me a bit, could you?" Percy suggested, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting it.

Jacob fetched his book and did that: "The Chinese Fireball, also known as the Liondragon, is a dragon native to China. The Fireball is scarlet and smooth scaled with a fringe of golden spikes around its face. The Fireball's snout is slightly short, ending with a hooked beak on the jaw. Its name is derived from the mushroom-shaped flame that is emitted through its nostrils when angered."*

"Very good," Percy complimented him. "You're doing very well with your studies, I see. That's sure to come in handy when you go to Hogwarts in a couple of years."

"I"ll be going there, Uncle Percy?" Jacob gasped.

"TEN MINUTES, ARTHUR!" They heard Molly's amplified voice shouting to the shed. They both laughed.

"Well, you're clearly a wizard, and unless you want to go all the way to France to school with Madame Maxime and Aunt Fleur's little sister, Gabriella, then yes, you'll attend Hogwarts," Percy explained. "I'd think Durmstrang might a bit cold for your liking?" He added.

"I don't mind, I just wish it would snow instead of rain," Jacob shook his head.

Percy cocked his head at the clue. "Do you like snow, Jacob?" He asked, reaching out to smooth the boy's hair and noticing the fading pink scar on his forehead. _That silly Dutch door, _Percy thought, smiling as he recalled that each one of them, himself included, had run into it at least a dozen times.

Jacob nodded. Then his eyes went wide and he froze. Percy touched his wand, gently, and wordlessly cast a charm to record. "I…I liked sleds," Jacob fumbled. "And snowmen. You can make them dance if you…" his voice trailed off as he stared at Percy, his face blank. He leaned over on his foster brother. "I…know…know about snow."

"All little boys like snow," Percy assured him, taking in the scattered toys, dropped clothing, the trainers stuck halfway up a wall, and the smell of a freshening charm fighting the smell of 'boy's room'. He smiled. "Jacob, do you like living here with Mum and Dad?"

Jacob nodded heartily. Then he looked down. "It's not like the shelter. It's not _fair_, Percy!" He sniffed, wiping his nose on the arm of his red hoodie. "How come I got picked and not Cam or somebody?"

"I don't know, Jacob, but here you are. And I need to know if you want to stay here?" Percy persisted.

Jacob nodded again and smiled. "Very much, yes!"

"That's all I need to hear, Jacob," Percy told him.

"Boys, dinner!" Molly called to them.

"Percy," Jacob asked, as they descended the stairs, "are you looking for my family?"

"Yes, I'm helping do that, Jacob."

"And I get to stay here if you can't?" Jacob asked.

Percy nodded.

"They left me," Jacob stated flatly. "I hope you _don't_ find them!"

Percy cocked an eyebrow, but didn't answer to that as they sat at the table. The meal, as always, was delicious. Jacob even put a piece of meat on a small saucer for his dragon.

"Since when do model dragons eat?" Percy asked, perplexed.

"Since Jacob started feeding it," Arthur shrugged.

"Interesting," Percy nodded, helping himself to another slice.

"I made the crust!" Jacob declared proudly.

"And a very good job you did, too," Arthur added.

"Thanks, Daddy," Jacob smiled.

Percy nearly choked. Molly pounded his back.

Dessert was an apple cake, made from apples from the Weasley orchard that Jacob had gathered himself.

When they were finished, Molly cast a spell to clear the table and do dishes so that they could all retire to the sitting room. As the adults chatted, Jacob got his blocks out to construct another building. He wasn't really listening to them, engrossed in his construction, when Uncle Percy asked him to fetch the briefcase.

As Jacob was returning, the Floo lit up green and Miss Felicia Thimblebrass stepped out.

"And what brings you here tonight, Miss?" Arthur greeted her, as Molly tidied her up and took her cloak.

"Oh, didn't Percy tell you?" Felicia asked. Apparently, he hadn't, as they all looked at him.

Jacob then ran to her, and she swept him up in a hug.

"Wh-what are you doing here, Miss?" Jacob gasped in surprise. "Would you like some cake? I helped made it!"

Once they'd all had a bit more cake, and Jacob had settled down again, Percy pulled a document from his briefcase.

"Well, as you all know," he began to explain, "We've had no luck since May in locating anyone who knows who Jacob is or where he came from. As it's been almost six months, Dad and I thought that it was time to formalize things a bit more. Miss Thimblebrass has no objections, Mum, Dad, and since Jacob has told me how much he wants to stay here, I thought it might be a good idea to take this a bit beyond just foster care." He shook out the parchment and pulled out a quill.

Molly gasped. "Does this mean…?"

"It means, Mrs. Weasley, that if no one comes looking for Jacob, or even if they do and are judged unfit, then he'll be yours for good!" Miss Thimblebrass explained. "We do not take abandonment lightly."

Jacob squeaked in surprise. "I get to stay? _I get to stay_?" He cut in.

"You get to stay," Percy assured him.

"You won't change your mind?" Jacob asked, his smile suddenly fading.

"Oh, no, Jacob!" Molly assured him.

*Again, Mr. Stuffings plays our special guest star courtesy of TenthWeasley!

* wiki/Chinese_Fireball - quote


	5. Chapter 5-Jakob

The Visitor

**Chapter 5**

**Jakob**

Much to Jacob's chagrin, November passed as dank, cold, gray and rainy with no snow.

Percy had reported to his parents and Miss Thimblebrass about the boy's recollection of snow, and played back the recording of his few lines about it. The night that Jacob's formal adoption had been set in motion, Percy had also revealed to the ladies his plan to solicit Viktor Krum's help in finding them a contact to search Durmstrang's records.

He'd also had Hagrid contact Madame Maxime of Beauxbatons, just in case.

The adults were mutually disturbed by not only the fact that Jacob remembered snow, but by his quote about hoping that Percy couldn't find his parents.

No one told Jacob these things, however.

And no one wanted to get the boy's hopes up, only to dash them. Once again, the Burrow was filled with the sounds of a happy child, and no one wanted to risk that.

"It's the worst thing that we can do to a child – let them believe they've found a family, then have it all fall through," Miss Thimblebrass had warned them. "We're at a very delicate stage for Jacob right now, and it's best if he not know until it's final."

So Jacob was told that until his parents could be located, he was to remain in official care with the Weasleys.

This bit of good news, it seemed, had helped with Jacob's problems. His nightmares began decreasing in severity, and more nights than not, he slept peacefully with only vague memories of bad dreams. His appetite increased, and some days it almost seemed possible to watch him grow. Molly had bought his new clothes a size too big, charmed them down to fit, and found herself restoring them in seemingly no time. Jacob's language skills improved, as did his building skills with his Neverending Blocks set. One night, following the suggestion book, he made a very good model of the Kremlin. He also did an Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, the White House, the Vatican, and the Taj Mahal.

Oddly enough, his magic also seemed to be blossoming as well. While his toy wand was supposed to only be able to cast a Lumos Charm, it was clear that Jacob was capable of much more. Molly and Arthur attributed the odd behavior of his toy dragon to random childhood magic, as Ron had been able to activate the animation charm on his bear, making Mr. Stuffings stand up and walk on his own when he was deeply engrossed in make-believe games with the old bear. Mr. Stuffings, however, had never eaten real food or bitten anyone!

One area that Jacob seemed to excel in was auto mechanics. Arthur's secret VW Beetle had arrived with four flat tires, but when Jacob kicked them, they all snapped back to the rim and inflated right back up. And somehow, using only a Muggle tire-shining polish, Jacob had managed to restore the tires to almost full tread life. Of course, the boy had never let slip to Molly about it, but both of them were sure that she was suspecting something. The more the two of them worked together on the car, the more Arthur wondered how silly he'd been for how he'd felt when Jacob had first arrived. It was unbelievable how he'd not wanted the boy around, and now he couldn't imagine evenings without listening to the boy do his schoolwork, or humming happily to himself while he built things with his blocks or made more artwork. Each morning, a different piece of artwork greeted him on the icebox door, and every night at bedtime, a picture of Jacob waved goodnight to them with the rest of the Weasley children from the mantelpiece.

And each night, that little voice told them that he loved them.

The Burrow, it seemed, had returned to normal.

By the end of the month, they were ready to try and start the car. Given his success (or lack thereof) with the Ford Anglia some years before, Arthur knew all about this. After much reassurance that it was safe, Jacob climbed into the front seat and fastened his seat belt. Arthur turned the key.

The car lurched forward, startling them, then sputtered and sat still again.

"Put the clutch in, Dad," Jacob reminded him, and Arthur tried again.

VROOOM! The Beetle's rebuilt engine came to life.

Jacob laughed and clapped his hands. His toy dragon flew out of his pocket and back into the house.

"Coward!" Arthur called after it.

Arthur found the headlight switch and turned it on. He waved his wand, and the shed's door opened, flooding the lawn with light.

"Oh, sweet Merlin at Stonehenge, _**NO!"**_ Molly gasped, "Not again!"

Arthur moved the shifter to first gear and gently released the clutch. The Beetle idled forward out into the night.

"It goes! It goes, Daddy!" Jacob cheered. "We did it!"

"Just so long as the body doesn't fall off," Arthur warned him. He tapped the radio with his wand.

"And this one goes out to my good friend, Arthur!" The voice of Lee Jordan announced, "A Muggle classic from the rock band Steppenwolf! Hope you enjoy it, Arthur, as your wife just Floo'd us up and said she was going to practice her Reductor Curse – **on your head**!"

"Let your motor run, and you…head out on the highway…"

The radio played on.

They pulled up to the house, where Molly was standing on the porch and tapping her foot.

"Hey, baby, goin' our way?" Arthur asked.

And so they drove down the way and through the nearby village of Ottery St. Catchpole, back up the hill, and frightened Xeno Lovegood so badly that he would publish in **The Quibbler** the next day that he had very nearly been abducted by Martians!

"Well, now if we could just fix the rust holes in it and paint it!" Molly said by way of a compliment.

"I wish it would snow," Jacob complained, as they put the Beetle back in the shed and headed inside for hot cocoa and biscuits.

"I wish we had a camera," Molly lamented, as they watched Jacob, sitting near the fireplace, happily reading **Fantastic Beasts…** and nibbling at a biscuit.

By the end of the month, Percy forwarded a letter to his parents from Madame Olympe Maxime, stating that no one in France's magical community was missing a little boy.

Felicia Thimblebrass came for dinner one evening, and Jacob was excited to show her all of the Christmas decorations that he and Molly had been putting up. But she seemed quite distracted. In fact, it was Jacob who pointed this out.

"It's the children," she admitted. "Not a one of them has been adopted, or even had a visitor," she sighed. "I'm afraid it's going to be a rough Christmas for them all."

"Have you gotten anyone at all, besides Andromeda, to help?" Molly asked, shooing Jacob out of the kitchen so that she could serve dinner.

"Well, Mr. Potter did make it possible for Mrs. Malfoy to help out, and she's been a real blessing," Felicia nodded. "And he also found us this daft old House Elf somewhere, Croaker?"

"Kreacher," Molly corrected her, rolling her eyes. "What else?" She asked, noting the look on the matron's face.

"Don't tell Jacob, but Cameron's in hospital," she whispered. "He ran away the other night, when it was raining. Hagrid found him curled up outside in the morning in the Hippogriff paddock, almost frozen to death. We still don't know how he got past the Hogwarts Wards, and if it hadn't been for that beast, Witherings, they said, he'd have fro-…" She sniffed, turning away. "He's not doing very well, Molly. They say he's…unbalanced…and not responding well to treatment."

Molly took her in her arms, searching for any words of comfort. It hardly seemed fair that while one homeless boy was out in the night freezing to death, another had been having the time of his life riding around in an automobile.

"What's Christmas?" Jacob asked later at dinner.

The adults just stared at him.

And so Arthur explained it.

Jacob didn't seem to buy the part about Father Christmas, or Santa Claus as some called him.

"You can't even Apparate into every house in the world in one night, you'd fall over exhausted!" Jacob theorized. "And reindeer don't fly! Thestrals and Hippogriffs, yes. Not reindeer!"

"Some say that the Native Alaskan Shamans have charmed reindeer to fly," Arthur protested. "Their antlers collect helium gas, and their fur is shaped like tiny little feathers. You see, they place Hover Charms on their hooves, and..."

Jacob snorted.

"Scrooge," Molly added.

"Who's that?" Jacob asked.

"I'll tell you at bedtime," Molly promised him.

After dessert, Jacob demonstrated his reading skills to Miss Thimblebrass and showed her his schoolwork. He also presented her with a piece of artwork, which they assumed was supposed to be a depiction of Hogsmeade Village, with snow. Felicia gratefully accepted it, and after a tour of the Burrow in general and Jacob's room in particular, she departed with assurances of a glowing report to the Ministry.

"As if _they_ care," Molly huffed. "Can you imagine, all those children?" She left it hanging. Arthur just nodded.

Later that night, Molly found her copy of Charles Dickens' works to explain to Jacob who Scrooge was:

"_I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."_

"_Come, then," returned the nephew gaily. "What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."_

"He's got a point," Jacob pointed out.

_Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, "Bah!" again; and followed it up with "Humbug."_

"_Don't be cross, uncle," said the nephew._

"_What else can I be," returned the uncle, "when I live in such a world of fools as this Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time for balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with "Merry Christmas" on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!"_

"What a beastly old man!" Jacob gasped, and his dragon seemed to agree. The little toy, who was residing in his breast pocket, nodded and snorted a small puff of smoke.

"Mummy, I don't much fancy this story!"

"Well, trust me, you'll fancy Christmas. You're sure you don't remember any?" Molly asked him again, unable to believe it.

Jacob shook his head. "Sounds rather dodgy to me, Mummy. I'm supposed to ask for things I want, and someone gives them to me? What's the catch?"

Molly laughed.

"Honestly," Jacob yawned. "I've already got everything!" He looked around the room.

In that moment, Molly could not have been more proud. She hugged him tightly, lost for words, then tucked him in.

That night, Jacob slept peacefully.

He dreamed of an old man in a flowing blue robe, with a long white beard.

"Things are going well, Jacob?" The old man asked.

Jacob nodded, looking around at the snow-covered village all about them that looked like one of Molly's old Christmas cards. "Very well, for _me_, sir," he replied.

"You're talking so eloquently now," The old man pointed out.

"Yes, sir!"

"But are you ready _now_, boy?" The old man asked. "It can't be put off much longer."

Jacob thought about it for a long while, thinking it odd that he wasn't cold, although all he was wearing was his colorful sleeper.

"Can't I have bit more, sir?" He answered honestly.

The old man considered it. "Perhaps," he nodded.

There was still no snow on December first, but Andromeda came visiting with baby Teddy. Jacob was delighted and fascinated by the baby, especially by Teddy's ability to change the color of his hair. While the women chatted away and put up more Christmas decorations, Jacob entertained Teddy by reading to him and trying to get him to draw with him. Teddy, however, was more interested in eating the crayons and kept crawling over to them no matter where Jacob moved them to.

"Now, Andy, you simply must bring Teddy on Christmas Eve. We'll _all_ be here at five, give or take!" Molly was saying. "Even Hagrid!"

"I wouldn't miss it," Andromeda smiled, glancing at Jacob and Teddy. "Still no word?"

"All we know is that he isn't French," Molly joked. "Percy's not heard back from the Durmstrang offices, though."

"I see," Andromeda agreed, "You know, there _is_ something familiar about him. Something that I can't quite put my finger on."

"I'm so looking forward to everyone being here this year," Molly went on, "And to see Jacob's face!" Then she flinched. "The tree! We've got to put in the tree!" She added excitedly. "Jacob! Bundle up, we've got to go and get a tree!"

"A _what_?" Jacob wondered.

Andromeda explained it all to him.

"You're going to kill a tree, to bring it in?" Jacob seemed appalled.

"Wait and see," Molly assured him, as they all dressed warmly and headed outside.

Molly fetched a shovel from the shed, which only confused the boy more. Andromeda snorted when she saw the car.

To Jacob's surprise, they dug up a very small spruce that was hardly 12" [30 cm] tall and put it in a small pot that Molly conjured. Jacob carried it back, although it got quite heavy after a bit. When they arrived back at the Burrow, Molly flicked her wand and a section of the floor in the far corner vanished. She then replanted the tree in the bare dirt.

"Engorgio!" She cast the Charm, and the tree began to expand. Jacob clapped; Teddy squealed in delight.

"Brilliant!" Jacob gasped, breathing in the smell of the tree.

"Now you'll have to water it every day!" Molly informed him.

Again, Jacob was delighted and went to fetch a pail.

Arthur was sitting in his office at about that time, dreading the stack of paperwork before him. He quickly signed off on Miss Thimblebrass' requisitions for funding from the seized assets of former Death Eaters, however. He figured he'd hear about that one soon enough, but it was already December, none of the children had found homes, things were still a bit chaotic at the Ministry, and Christmas was coming. "Idiots, what do I know about Gringotts investments? I'll teach 'em to come in and do _their _jobs!" he shook his head, wondering what kind of tree he would find planted in the sitting room this year. It was the custom at the Burrow to fetch a tree on the first of December, plant it in the house, enlarge it, and then reduce it for a return to the wild when Christmas was over. With a grin, he remembered the cedar that Charlie had picked out one year. While the tree had looked very full and smelled wonderful, the branches had been far too flimsy to hold any ornaments and had required some very creative stabilizing charms so that they didn't fall off.

He found himself wishing that he could be there to see Jacob's face.

"Dad?" Percy interrupted him, barging in and not bothering to knock. "Dad, have you got a moment?"

Arthur took one look at his son and instantly knew that something was wrong.

"Come in, Perce! What is it?"

Percy turned and secured the door with at least three Spells.

"Dad, I've got news. _Bad_ news, I'm afraid," Percy shook his head, holding up a large envelope with a Durmstrang seal on it. "This just came from Viktor, Wizards' Parcel Service, overnight. He didn't dare owl or Floo it, and it's obvious that the deliveryman's memory has been altered. He doesn't even know how he got to England!"

Arthur felt his heart skip. The envelope, combined with the look on Percy's face, and such security measures, could mean only one thing.

Probably a bad thing.

"You found them?"

Percy nodded, looking ill.

"Jacob's parents are dead, then?" Arthur breathed, dreading having to tell the little boy this news so near Christmas.

Percy shook his head.

Arthur paled.

"Then they…they w-want him back?" Arthur stammered, immediately imagining scenarios (none of them good) as to how Molly would take this news. He himself was already feeling gutted.

"Dad," Percy tried to cut in.

"I suppose we knew it could happen," Arthur looked away, "We said we were prepared for it, that we'd do the right thing, and that…"

"DAD!" Percy shouted, dropping the envelope on his desk and sitting down hard in a chair he hastily conjured. He then bowed his head, covering his face with both hands.

"Percy, what _is _it?" Arthur demanded, seeing his son now trembling.

"J-just read it, Dad," Percy managed, getting himself a glass of water and transfiguring it into something much stronger.

With trembling hands, Arthur opened the envelope. There were only a few papers in it, each of them bearing the mark of the **Eastern European Society of Sorcery**, their own Ministry's counterpart. The first was a birth certificate, and Arthur stared at it. For a moment, what he was reading didn't register with him. The official signature read: "Igor V. Karkaroff", which meant it was pre-1994. Then he dropped it and sat back down, his chair sliding into the wall with a THUNK! He felt his stomach fall into his shoes.

"Oh, Merlin! Merlin, _no_, anyone but HIM!" he kept repeating over and over, picking up the paper and just staring at it in shock:

JAKOB LUKAS DOLOHOV

**Date of birth: Friday, April 13th, 1990**

**Father: Antonin Mikael Dolohov**

**Mother: Anastasia Valentina Veselovsky**

**Birthplace: Moscow, Russia**

"I d-don't believe it," Arthur finally managed. "I WON'T BELIEVE IT!" He shouted.

"Dad, the…the fingerprints match," Percy assured him, his voice breaking. "They take…they take a tiny blood sample, too, when babies are born, that's the spot there," He pointed it out on the document. "Our Muggle liaison has confirmed that as well. Jacob's DNA sample that Madame Pomfrey sent in is a perfect match." He got himself another drink. "Dad, there's no doubt about it."

"Antonin Dolohov's son," Arthur breathed, turning the birth certificate over and slamming his palm down on it, as if this action would make things change somehow.

"You know Dolohov's history?" Arthur added, as Percy looked up at him.

Percy nodded slowly. "I took the liberty of looking it up, Dad." He then lowered his head again, shaking. "Dad, I…I warned you that it might be…that Jacob could be…I just never _dreamed_ that he could be…Dad, we didn't _know_! Dolohov never even mentioned any arrangements for the boy, after he was sent to Azkaban this time."

"You – are – _absolutely_ – sure?" Arthur said it slowly.

"It makes no sense to me, Dad," Percy shrugged, "Yet here it is, and DNA doesn't lie! I suppose there could be any number of magical medical explanations…"

"I didn't know that bastard _had_ any children, either," Arthur interrupted him. "Hell, there's no records of the boy here!" He repeated.

"I suppose bypassing immigration was high on his priority list when his family emigrated here," Percy pointed out. "It wouldn't have been that hard to smuggle the wife and baby in."

Arthur said nothing for the longest time. He simply perused the rest of the documentation, including the same type of confirmation of the birth of a magical child that Hogwarts was known to record for the Isles. Jacob's name was down for Durmstrang. The boy remembered snow. He insisted that reindeer did not fly. He pronounced his own name as "yah-cobb".

Arthur picked up the two flyers again – Death Eaters and shelter children. Of course, Jacob's image was now missing, but again, he felt that chill of familiarity. Arthur opened his wallet and pulled out his copy of Jacob's image. He held it up next to that of Antonin Dolohov.

That lopsided little smile suddenly gave him chills.

The resemblance was clear.

"Why didn't I notice it before?" Arthur mumbled.

"Dad," Percy said again, his voice full of emotion. "I never knew them, but Uncles Fabian and Gideon were k-…"

"_I know that_!" Arthur snapped. He palmed his face. "I'm sorry, Perce. Forgive me. I just can't…I have no idea how I'm going to explain this to your mother."

"I…I have t-testimonials to…to file," Percy stammered. "H-Harry and Ron have finally finished their depositions in the matter of the Crabbe boy, you know. They've been so busy, what with school and all."

"Go and do your work, Perce," Arthur suddenly embraced him. "You were always such a hard worker," he added. "Wonder you weren't in Hufflepuff, you know…" his voice trailed off as he began pacing the office as Percy took his leave. "So studious, attention to details…"

"Dad, may I ask, do I need to call…the shelter?"

Arthur didn't reply.

"Right, then," Percy sighed. "I'll jus' go and try and sort this impossible mess out, shall I?"

The door clicked shut.

_Crabbe_, Arthur thought. _Another mother who'd lost a child…_

Arthur went back to his desk, and studied the thin file on Jakob Dolohov. There was a record of his father's arrest and still-pending trial. He was currently in Azkaban. The other document was from St. Mungo's, the morgue, listing Anastasia as "succumbed to injuries received in the Battle of Hogwarts". Arthur gathered a few things from his desk, grabbed the file, and left work early.

Not trusting his nerves enough to Apparate, he Floo'd to the Leaky Cauldron to see if Hannah might have a good tonic.

"You look dreadful, Mr. Weasley!" Hannah informed him.

"Bit of unfortunate news," Arthur replied, sipping at the clear, fizzing drink.

"Not anythin' wrong with your little visitor, is there?" An old woman asked him, plunking herself down on the barstool next to him.

"Doris," Arthur drew a deep breath, "Please…just _go_ away!"

Doris Crockford gave him an appraising look, a curt nod, and went on about her business – which to Doris, was everyone else's business too.

Arthur finished his drink, decided to risk it, and went out the front door and ducked into an alley where he vanished.

When he materialized on the lawn at the Burrow, Arthur felt a draft. He looked down to see that he'd splinched off his left shoe, sock, and trouser leg, and counted himself lucky that there were still five toes on his foot. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of his home.

_It's not much, but it's home,_ he could hear Ron's boyhood voice saying.

A home that had raised seven children.

A home that had lost one of those children.

A home that had gained one along the way.

A home that was now haven to the son of the man who'd…

Arthur shook himself out of his reverie and went inside.

As he turned to check the sitting room, he smelled the spruce before he saw it. In a blink of his eyes, seven children in homemade and hand-me-down clothing, with "new" secondhand school things, and a bit of Honeydukes clearance Christmas candy vanished as quickly as they'd come.

Happy children at Christmas.

Now only baby Teddy Lupin remained, napping near the tree. Arthur move carefully so as not to wake him.

Building blocks, papers, and crayons were now scattered about the floor around the untrimmed tree. Arthur bent down to examine a brightly colored picture, and saw that it was another collage of handprints, all in different colors. In the lower corner, in black letters, was printed "JACOB'98". Another was, he assumed, a Christmas tree made of green handprints.

"Arthur, is that you?" Molly called, sticking her head around the doorjamb, "What are you doing home so early?" She blinked. "Bit of turbulence in the ether today?" She wondered, noting her husband's bare leg.

"A… a bit," Arthur nodded.

"Well cover it up," Molly pulled her wand, and summoned a bit of cloth from her sewing basket to repair his trousers. "I'm sure that Andy doesn't want to see _that_!"

"An-Andromeda's here?" Arthur managed, "Good, good. I…I suppose she should…she should hear this, too."

Molly stared at him for a moment. Arthur approached her unsteadily, and she took his arm. "What's wrong, dear?" She asked. "Something at work?"

Arthur nodded, sitting numbly at the kitchen table where Andromeda was just pouring some tea. She handed him a cup.

_There's no help for it,_ Arthur decided, pondering a biscuit. His stomach lurched.

"Percy found Jacob's parents today," he blurted.

The two ladies stared at him.

Molly's teacup fell to the floor and shattered.

"Where _is_ the boy?" Arthur added, his voice going cold.

"Upstairs, taking a nap," Andromeda answered, when Molly didn't. "He's had a big day."

"Good," Arthur turned and hastily cast a silencing charm on the doorway.

"Who…_who_ are they?" Molly finally whispered.

Arthur bowed his head. "Sit down, love," he replied. Molly did that. "Do you remember what we said, Molly, when we were talking about what we'd do if they ever found out who…if we found out they were…"

"Death Eaters?" She cut in, "But we've been over all that!" Molly replied, nodding.

"How did Percy do it?" Andromeda interrupted, noting the looks on Molly and Arthur's faces.

"We were looking in all the wrong places," Arthur informed her. "Percy called Krum at Durmstrang, and Krum got a hold of someone in records _there_. That's how they found him. Jacob is Russian, born in Moscow. Possibly from other locations, too, since he was smuggled into this country along with his mother."

"Well _where _are they now?" Andromeda demanded, as Molly just looked on in shock. "Do they know? Do they want custody?"

"Azkaban," Arthur said, shaking his head, "Well, the _father_ is. The mother's dead. She died just after the Final Battle."

"Death Eaters," Molly repeated, "Well, we _suspected_…I mean, we shouldn't be surprised. _All _the remaining shelter children are…theirs, aren't they?"

"Isn't _that _just it, Molly?" Arthur said in sudden heat, startling the ladies, "We knew it might be _possible,_ but we didn't really _expect _it, did we? But we _said_ it was all right, _didn't_ we, because he was just a _child_? _He_ didn't do a thing, _did_ he? Other than get lost when those monsters dragged him out into the forest to watch it all! He's innocent? But we never really expected to _confirm_ it, did we?"

"Of _course_ he's innocent!" Andromeda retorted. "It's not like the boy participated!"

"He saw it," Arthur explained, "The nightmares prove it. Jakob saw the Battle. He even quoted Voldemort's words. Those wicked, vile…_people_…!" He spluttered, "Dragged him out in the night to the bloody fight _with _them! They made a seven-year-old boy _watch _that horror! And then, when one gets herself killed, and the father gets arrested, _he_ doesn't even have the _decency_ to tell someone there's a child lost in the forest?! Thank Merlin for Abe's goat!" Arthur ranted, waving his arms about wildly, his face red and sweating.

"Seven?" Molly wondered.

"Well, eight, _now_," Arthur dropped the file on the table. "He was born in April, 1990."

Molly reached for the folder, but Arthur stayed her hand.

"Dammit, Arthur," Andromeda snorted, "Who _were_ they?"

"Just like all the rest of them," Arthur continued his rant, "Make sure we raise the kids right, what?! Take 'em out to a good war and pass the fizzy drinks and popcorn! 'Pay attention, son, while Daddy does the Cruciatus Curse on this fellow'!"

"Arthur, what _are _you on about?" Andromeda wondered. "You're acting like the boy was the lovechild of Voldemort and…old lady Parkinson or something!"

"Ewww!" Molly sneered. "Seriously, dear, are you going to _tell _us who they are or _not?_ Do we need to call a lawyer on this?"

"Antonin and Anastasia Dolohov," Arthur admitted. "It's all in there," he tapped the folder.

The Burrow went very quiet.

Molly shivered as if the temperature of the room had physically dropped.

"Dolohov…" Andromeda and Molly both gasped.

"'**Jakob Lukas Dolohov'**," Molly read the boy's name, her voice quavering and her hands shaking as she shook her head in disbelief. "Dolohov…he…he was the one who killed my brothers, Fabian and Gideon," she managed, as the tears came.

"And Remus. They said…they s-said it took four more Death Eaters to take Fabian and Gideon down!"

Andromeda squeezed Molly's hand tighter.

Andromeda, however, refused to show any emotion. Her face was hard as she looked from Molly to Arthur.

For a long time, no one said a word.

Then Molly stood up so quickly that she knocked her chair over. "It's _never _going to end, is it?" She exclaimed, waving her arms about, "Just when you think you've put it _all_ behind you, just when you think you've done something good, started to move on…" she began to sob. "Some old ghost comes back out of the past to bring it all back to you! What will people _say_ when this gets out?! I thought that we'd…we'd have…some semblance…of a normal life, now…And we've taken in _his_…son? How can we possibly…the boy, I…he's _branded_, with a name like that!" She leaned upon the counter, hiding her face in her hands, unable to complete the sentence. Then she slowly sank to her knees on the kitchen floor. "I…I just don't know if I can face this again…if I can even look at…after what his father did? Oh, Arthur!" She cried, and Arthur moved to support her. He grabbed the teacup that Andromeda levitated to him, and got Molly to sip it.

Molly passed out in his arms.

"That should do it," Andromeda said firmly, stoppering a small bottle and putting it back in her pocket. "_What_?" She looked at Arthur, "It was that or a good slap, and the latter seemed inappropriate at the time!"

Arthur took his wife up to bed, then returned without checking on Jacob.

"_You're_ taking this rather well?" He asked Andromeda in an icy tone, who was making more tea.

"Arthur, don't take this the wrong way," she replied, nibbling calmly at a biscuit. "But I've lost far more than you have. I lost the House of Black - my entire family, for the man I loved. Then _they _killed him. My own _sister _killed my only daughter in the Battle of Hogwarts. I know what it's like to lose a child, too. And Dolohov killed my son in law, Remus, too. How do they say it? I've become something of a hard-arse. I suppose we could say that's the problem you face, now, isn't it?"

"What?!" Arthur gasped. "What are you getting at, Andy?"

"Admit it, Arthur. You're now fostering the son of a murderer, and one that's literally hit home for you lot – the son of the man who killed your wife's brothers and tore her family apart. The man who wanted to kill your son, Ron's, friends, and very nearly got Hermione in the Department of Mysteries. The man who killed Teddy's father, your good friend. Don't _tell _me that it doesn't bother you, just a bit? It certainly seems to have hit Molly fairly hard?"

Arthur glared at her.

"How can you just _sit _there and say it like that?!" Arthur snapped at her. "And besides, that _House_ of yours kicked out Septimus Weasley and Cedrella Black decades ago, too! I couldn't care less about that! But how can you _be _so callous?"

Andromeda drew herself up, and Arthur suppressed a shiver as he suddenly recalled Bellatrix LeStrange. "Because I've _always _had to be! Because I _have_ to be strong, _now _more than ever, for Teddy's sake! Because I was raised in the House of Black, where you _had _to be strong! And for my own sanity's sake! Merlin's knickers, Arthur! I grew up with _Bella_!" Andromeda replied, her voice rising, full of steel. "I have to be something of a bitch just to keep from going mad! And don't you confuse strength for uncaring, Arthur Weasley!" She fired back at him, "If I could get my hands on Antonin Dolohov right now, I'd make my dear sister, Bella, look like the bloody Tooth Fairy! But if you think I'm going to sit in my house all day, worrying about what others think of _me_, and cry over what's done, then you're sadly mistaken!" She glared at him. Then she sipped her tea. "And let me remind you yet AGAIN, that _you both knew_ that Jakob could be a – oh, what's the term I've heard around town? 'Death Eater's brat,' that's the one! Oh, and 'spawn of Slytherin', there's another good one."

"Horace and Severus were…" Arthur began.

"And so am _**I**_!" Andromeda reminded him, and her voice was dangerous. "So don't you _even_ go there, Arthur Weasley! Don't you put his all down to that tired old 'Slytherins are evil' cliché!"

"_That_ boy's father is the reason that Teddy is an _orphan_!" Arthur pointed out the door at the staircase landing by the sitting room.

"Speaking of," Andromeda cut in, "Time to get him up. Pardon me." She brushed past Arthur as if they'd simply just been discussing the weather or something.

Arthur then heard her gasp.

Teddy's bassinette was empty.

Dolohov killed Remus…Arthur recalled."Wouldn't surprise me if the heir of that madman's come to finish off the job his dad started! **Hominum Revellio**!" He pulled his wand, scanning the house.

"Oh, of _course_, Felicia sent Jacob, knowing full well who he was, so that he could off Teddy and make his old man proud," Andromeda snorted in sarcasm. "Arthur, _get_ a grip! You're being a nutter – and don't think I won't slap _you_!"

"Jacob's room!" He then snapped, as he charged up the stairs with Andromeda behind him.

They burst into the room to find Jacob sitting on his bed, his back to the corner. He was sobbing, rocking Teddy in his arms, and trying to hum a little tune. Teddy was only squirming and fussing a bit, seemingly unperturbed. Jacob was choking as he held the baby close, rocking, but saying nothing. His toy wand was laid across Teddy's chest.

Arthur approached him, wand in hand, but ran into an invisible wall.

"You see? See?" He turned to Andromeda, "The boy does all sorts of queer things!"

"Hmmm, yes, wicked Dark Magic, I can tell," Andromeda sniffed. Teddy cooed.

"D-don't hurt the baby," Jacob finally managed to say, "You'll scare him! Don't hurt him, don't let him see! Don't make him watch…" Jacob continued to cry.

"Jacob, why did you hide with the baby up here?" Andromeda pushed Arthur aside.

"You'll hurt him. Make him see…see _things_," Jacob shook his head, clenching his eyes shut as he kept on rocking. "Yelling! Grown-ups yelling! When they yell, then they hurt you, then it's fire, bad men yelling, and fire…" he choked again, his voice getting smaller and smaller. "They get the wands out," Jacob looked up at Arthur in terror, whose wand was pointed right at him. "Then they hurt you! Did you hurt Mummy?" He asked Arthur. "I saw her fall down!"

Andromeda kicked Arthur's shin. "Put the damn wand _down,_ Arthur!" She ordered him.

"Not until he gives us the baby!" Arthur protested, and with a wave of his wand, the wall of magical force shattered. Teddy flew out of Jacob's arms and into Andromeda's, and Jacob collapsed on his bed, hiding his face in top cover.

"Nicely done Muffliato, down there, Arthur. Seems he heard and saw the whole thing," Andromeda snapped at him. "Why didn't you just use a Beater's bat to deliver the information?"

"I…I should call Poppy," Arthur said, "Make sure Molly's all right?"

"_Molly_?" Andromeda hissed, as Teddy began to cry. "What about Jacob? Or rather, Ja**k**ob," she hit the consonant sounds hard.

Arthur ushered her out and closed the door to Jakob's room, locking it.

"_Really_?!" Andromeda exclaimed. "For Merlin's sake, Arthur! He's just overheard that his real mother is dead, and that his father is a mass murderer who left him alone in the middle of a war zone! He might have even heard you say that his father murdered part of _this _family! Don't you even _care _anymore how that poor boy feels?"

"Not right at this moment, no," Arthur confessed.

"Arthur, I _cannot_ believe I am hearing…" Andromeda began, but Arthur cut her off.

"Thank you, Andromeda, but I think you need to go home now. I have some calls to make," Arthur dismissed her.

The look she gave him in return was deadly.

"So the choice is now yours, I think. Which one do you destroy? Molly or Jakob?" Andromeda retorted. Then she turned on the spot and vanished into a swirl of furious black smoke with the baby's cries echoing throughout the Burrow.

Downstairs, the clock struck five.

**Notes**:

wiki/Antonin_Dolohov

For those that are going to yell that Jakob is too old if Dolohov is his dad, wait.

You'll note that Percy is hinting at this when he tells Arthur. Of course Percy would know this!

Suspend the belief for a bit; it's essential to the plot.

"A Christmas Carol" text is quoted. Credit: Charles Dickens. No, Jakob is _not_ the Ghost of Christmas Past. Sorry…


	6. Chapter 6-Little Boy Lost

The Visitor

**Chapter 6**

**Little Boy Lost**

Jakob Lukas Dolohov awoke sometime in the night, shivering. Pale light from the almost-full moon filled his room, and he rubbed his eyes to see his toy dragon sleeping on the pillow next to him. He uncurled himself and stretched, wondering that he'd fallen asleep in his clothes. His arm was a bit sore from where he'd been pressed up against the wall, but as he moved it around to try and get the kink out, he realized that something was wrong.

His stomach growled at him.

Every night, his mum came to help him into his soft, warm sleeper and tucked him in. If he hadn't been carried up to bed by his dad, after falling asleep in the sitting room reading him a story, then _she_ would read him a story and sit by his bedside until he fell asleep. She would never let him fall asleep in his clothes, and why was his room so _cold_? Hadn't anyone placed the usual warming charm on it at bedtime? Jakob guessed not. He wondered why, as his stomach growled again, that no one had come to wake him up for dinner? Was it because he was so tired from the hike to get the Christmas tree? Was he ill? He didn't feel ill – just hungry. And cold.

Had he done something wrong?

Then he remembered the bad dream: Mummy collapsing on the floor, Dad shouting at Mrs. Tonks, Mrs. Tonks telling Dad off and saying he was innocent. Jakob didn't know what that meant, so how could he have dreamed it?

Then he remembered baby Teddy.

The grown-ups were shouting, and bad things happened when grown-ups shouted. Daddy had his wand out, and that wasn't a good sign. Mummy was crying, Daddy was shouting, and Mrs. Tonks was angry. Very angry. She was so angry that she looked just like the bad lady what always laughed when she scared him. Teddy was scared, too, he remembered. The baby was crying, but no one noticed. He had to hide the baby before they started shooting at each other; they might hit the baby by accident.

He rubbed his forehead, remembering the only time that Mummy and Daddy had scared him. But that was an accident, too.

As he stood up, a dummy [pacifier] fell from his rumpled blankets, and Jakob picked it up.

Teddy's dummy [pacifier].

He looked around his bed and on the floor.

His toy wand was gone.

The moonlight wasn't _that_ bright, and the far corners of his room were dark. Jakob didn't like the dark. Monsters hid in the dark.

Jakob remembered monsters.

Monsters that smelled bad, like old dogs. Monsters that snapped and smiled with ugly, scary teeth, and laughed when you peed in your pants when they scared you so bad. Monsters that wanted to bite you, because you were cute enough to eat, they'd tell you. Jakob didn't know why such a nice lady would let monsters like that into her house, or monsters that didn't have noses – monsters that looked kinda like men, but not the kind of men who would sit you on their lap and read to you, or pick you up when you fell down. These were monsters that even when they said something nice, it made you feel like hiding. What was 'potential'? The monster without a nose had told Jakob he had potential, one time.

Were there monsters in the Burrow that Jakob didn't know about?

Something was on the floor, near the door. Jakob watched it for a while, but it didn't move. He threw a shoe at it.

It was a baby sock.

Teddy's feet would be cold then, Jakob reasoned, shaking his head. He had to take it back to him, make sure he was OK and that they hadn't hurt him.

He paused. Mummy and Daddy wouldn't do that, though. Teddy was their "honorary grandson," they said. Jakob blinked. Dad was angry, and yelling. "Not until he gives us the baby!"

"I _did _do something bad," Jakob realized, remembering the feeling he got sometimes when he was angry or scared. They were going to hurt the baby, because they had wands out and they were yelling at him. He had to protect the baby, and so he'd imagined a wall between them, but that had only made Dad angrier. "I better go say I'm sorry," he mumbled to himself, which woke up the dragon. It flew over and landed on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

Jakob's door was stuck. Or locked.

"It _wasn't_ another bad dream!" He whimpered, falling to his knees on the cold floor.

Dad had shouted at him, pointed his wand at him, and taken the baby away.

He knelt there for a long time, shivering. He'd been locked in his room without dinner, he was cold and hungry, and he had to pee. "I wish Cam was here," Jakob sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Cam would know what to do." But Cam wasn't there; Cam was at the shelter. Cam was at the shelter because his parents were gone somewhere, and no one wanted him. Jakob never understood that. Why did some of the kids go home with nice grown-ups and not come back? Why did some of them go to the school, up the way, when Cam was twelve and he couldn't go too?

Jakob was shivering so badly that he could hardly change clothes and get his warm sleeper on. Now it felt sort of itchy, though, and he was still cold. It never itched him before, he wondered? He turned his light on, and that made things better. He put his favorite hoodie on over the sleeper, and put his trainers back on. He put Teddy's pacifier and lost sock in his 'tummy-pocket' of the hoodie, Mum called it.

"Mummy?" he called, softly, tentatively. He never had to yell before. All he had to do was just say it, if he was scared, and she'd come.

The door remained closed.

No one came.

Jakob waited a bit.

No one came.

Jakob sat on his bed and cried.

"But what did I _do_?" He whimpered.

FUMP! FUMP! FUMP!

Jakob jumped with a squeak of surprise. Was someone knocking? His heart sped up.

"C-come in?"

FUMP! FUMP! FUMP! GROWL!

The door flew open, banging off the wall, and a balding, beat up, somewhat shabby teddy bear that was half as big as he was came toddling into the room. Jakob would have been scared silly if he hadn't seen that bear before in pictures. It was Mr. Stuffings, the toy bear that had survived six of the Weasley children. There was thread that didn't quite match his thinning plush fur holding his left arm on as he toddled over and offered Jakob his paw. Then he looked at the door, his black-button eyes glittering. He smiled at Jakob.

And since he was cold, and hungry, and had to pee, and since he didn't know what else to do, Jakob took the bear's paw and followed him. When they passed through the door, Jakob felt that thing like cold ants crawling all over him that he remembered from…the house he'd been in before.

He remembered a big, creepy house.

"It's a _wart_!" he whispered to the bear, "Be careful, or the warts will hurt you!"

Mr. Stuffings just shook his head and shrugged.

After he used the loo, Jakob followed the bear down the stairs. He was careful not to make any noise, since he was scared that if he did, and woke them up, they'd be angry with him all over again. He would apologize in the morning, and promise to not do it again, even though he hadn't hurt Teddy. In fact, it was Dad who made Teddy go flying through the air like a Quaffle ball. Mr. Stuffings led him to the kitchen, through another 'wart', where Jakob found some cold meat and cheese and a jar of pickles in the icebox. He offered some to the bear, but he just shook his head and sat in the boy's lap, leaning on Jakob's chest while the boy and his dragon ate. Jakob liked pickles. He reached for a napkin.

There was a yellow folder full of papers in the middle of the kitchen table.

"Now I _know_ it wasn't a bad dream," Jakob gasped, remembering how upset Mummy had got when she saw the papers. He remembered it now – Dad didn't hurt her after all. She fainted when she read the papers, but Mrs. Tonks didn't. Mrs. Tonks just drank her tea and told Dad he was silly. Jakob liked Mrs. Tonks.

Jakob leaned over to look at the folder, but the moonlight was too dim to read it. Then the hanging lamp over the table lit up on its own, and he was afraid it would wake them up. The black printed letters said "Dolohov, Antonin & Family," but Jakob didn't think he should look at it. It must be bad things, he knew, to upset Mummy so. "Should I look?" He whispered.

Mr. Stuffings nodded.

Jakob opened the envelope.

There was a picture of a man he didn't know. There was also a picture of a lady he didn't know.

Jakob began to read:

_Antonin Dolohov was a wizard and one of the original Death Eaters of Lord Voldemort. He fought in the First Wizarding War, during which he tortured many Muggles, and wizards and witches who were not supporters of Voldemort. Along with four other Death Eaters, he participated in the murders of Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Dolohov was caught and convicted of these crimes, and sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban_.

"Bad man," Jakob whispered, as he put down that page and pulled out another. This one was fancier, with nice decorations and neat printing and writing. Some man named "Igor" had even signed his name, so it must be important.

_JAKOB LUKAS DOLOHOV_

_Date of birth: Friday, April 13__th__, 1990_

_Father: Antonin Mikael Dolohov_

_Mother: Anastasia Valentina Veselovsky_

_Birthplace: Moscow, Russia_

"But that's _my_ name, **Jacob**!" He gasped, looking at his drawing on the icebox door, and seeing the difference in spelling. "They spelled it wrong!"

Mr. Stuffings shook his head.

_That boy's father is the reason that Teddy is an orphan! _Jakob remembered hearing Dad shouting, when he'd pointed right at him – but he hadn't seen him.

And wasn't Miss Thimblebrass always looking for his parents? Looking for all the kids' parents? She always said, "I'm trying very hard to find your parents!"

Jakob saw the small print at the bottom that read "EESS Certificate of a Magical Birth". He put it aside.

Jakob's hands trembled as he read through more pages detailing the crimes of these Dolohov people. The more he read, the more he began to get a bad feeling about it. He didn't like them _at all_.

According to Igor Karkaroff, Dolohov tortured many Muggles and non-supporters of Lord Voldemort during the First Wizarding War. With the help of four other Death Eaters, he murdered Fabian and Gideon Prewett, the brothers of Molly Weasley née Prewett. He was not the only participant in the act, though, since Mad-Eye Moody informed Harry Potter years later that it took five Death Eaters to kill the two wizards, whose murders were described as "brutal."

"Molly Weasley?" Jakob whispered, pulling his hands back from the paper as if it were a live snake. "Mummy?"

Dolohov is also credited with the murder of Remus J. Lupin, former Hogwarts DADA teacher, wife Dora Lupin née Tonks, and father of Teddy Remus Lupin.

There was an 8x10" glossy black and white photo as well, and with a lurch, Jakob saw that it was him! He remembered the man with the camera, and how much fun it had been to have your picture taken. He smiled and even waved once for the camera, even though the other kids at the shelter didn't look and some of them cried.

"No!" He whimpered, as he picked up the last paper. It was in very neat handwriting:

With DNA tests confirmed by our Muggle Liaison Office, in being a perfect match to the dried blood sample on the birth certificate in question, and with matching fingerprints, the identity of the foundling boy formerly known as 'Jack', admitted to **The Charity Burbage Shelter for Displaced Magical Children**, has been confirmed to be Jakob Lukas Dolohov, son of Antonin and Anastasia Dolohov.

The boy has been placed in temporary foster care with Arthur and Molly Weasley, with permanent adoption pending approval, as the mother is recorded as deceased, and the father is serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole in Azkaban Prison…

Jakob skipped to the end and saw the signature of Percy Ignatius Weasley.

"It's _me_!" Jakob gasped again. "Uncle Percy wrote this!"

Without even cleaning up after himself, as he always did, Jakob ran back up the stairs to his room and threw himself down on his bed, sobbing. _My real mum and dad were bad people!_ He thought. _They killed people! They left me in the forest!_

And then it hit him.

Jakob now knew what Mum and Dad…no, what Arthur and Molly…were so angry about.

"They won't want me anymore!" Jakob choked. "They'll think I'm a bad boy, just like my real dad! They'll think I was going to hurt Teddy!"

And since it was very cold outside, and since it was dark and there were monsters hiding in the dark, and because he didn't know how far it was back to the shelter, Jakob hid under his blankets and pulled them over his head. He thought about getting under the bed, to hide, they'd never look there…just like Cam had shown him…, but there might be spiders under the bed and the spiders wanted to eat him.

Then Jakob felt something warm as his blankets were pulled back, and Mr. Stuffings climbed into the bed and snuggled up against him.

Clutching the old, worn out teddy bear that was clearly on his last leg (literally), Jakob Lukas Dolohov cried himself to sleep on what he thought was certainly his last night at the Burrow, bracing himself for more bad dreams.

"He was a _bad_ man!" Jakob snapped at the old man in the blue robe.

"But that doesn't make _you_ a bad boy, does it now, Jakob?" The old man replied, peering at him over his half-moon spectacles.

"They'll send me away," Jakob sniffled, wondering if he could just sit on the bench with his dragon and Mr. Stuffings forever.

The old man shook his head. "She'd never do that," he disagreed, "She needs you right now. She just doesn't know it yet."

But Jakob shook his head. "They _hate_ me! They locked me in my room, and didn't even have dinner! I _thought_ they were nice people!"

The old man shook his head. "They _are_, Jakob, but they've been damaged by the war. Grief can make strange things happen, Jakob," the old man replied. "And you said, the other night, that you were ready for this?"

"I…I don't w-want them to…to hate me!" Jakob cried. "I don't want to go!"

"You don't have to go – yet," the old man told him. "In fact, I think you _need_ to stay."

"But why _stay_ if they hate me?" Jakob protested, clutching the old bear as if he were his only friend in the world.

"So that you can teach them something," the old man smiled. "Only then can you go."

"But why do I _have _to go, when I…_I_ love _them_?" Jakob sniffled.

"_That,_ dear boy, is exactly _why_ you have to go. Just not quite _yet_."

When Jakob awoke the next morning, the house was quiet. His door was still open, but his room wasn't so cold. He looked at his alarm clock, a Muggle thing, Dad…Arthur…had said. It was almost eleven, and near time for lunch. He looked around the room, wondering if he could find a bag to put his toys in. Cam and the others would like it if he shared his toys, Jakob knew. He then went to the bathroom, washed up as best he could without a proper bath, and dressed himself. He put his red hoodie on backwards the first time and had to change it. Then he went downstairs to say he was sorry, and that he'd go back to the shelter if they didn't want him anymore.

Mr. Stuffings was tugging at his leg again.

Jakob didn't expect to see all the people he saw in the large sitting room. That matron was there, with the big white hat, what was her name? The lady who came to the shelter to check on them? Madame Pomfrey, that was her name, Jakob remembered. She was the witch who'd gave him a shot in the bum once, for Dragonpox. Jakob didn't like her much after that. Uncle Percy was there too, and Jakob recognized Harry and Aunt Ginny and Uncle Ron from the pictures on the mantelpiece. He looked around for Mrs. Tonks, but she wasn't there, and Jakob had to give Teddy his things back. He picked up Mr. Stuffings and carried him to the doorway.

"I'll be fine!" Mum (Molly) was protesting, "Geroff me, Poppy!" She was telling the Mediwitch.

"You are NOT fine, Mum!" Percy protested, "You've had a near nervous collapse over all this! I _told_ you that you were doing…"

"I am _not _doing too much, young man!" Molly shook a finger at him. "And you lot know that Arthur has so much to do at work! YOU should be at work, too, Percy! And YOU!" She turned on Harry then. "Ditching a class to come and see me? Ronald and Ginevra! Skipping school?! What WILL Minerva say?"

"She'd say it was her idea," an older lady that Jakob didn't know cut in, as she emerged from the Floo. "Longbottom is a perfectly competent teaching substitute for one hour with the Firsties while Harry is away."

"We're worried about you, Mum," Ginny said.

"Never thought I'd say it," Ron agreed, "But she's right, Mum!"

"Molly, where's Jakob?" Harry then asked, and everyone looked at him. Harry shrugged. "What? It's almost lunch, and we've not seen a thing of him?"

"Don't tell me no one's checked on him since last night?!" Percy exclaimed. "For Merlin's sake, Mum! He could be halfway back to Aberforth's shed by now!"

"I'm just here," Jakob dared speak up in a very small voice, and everyone turned to look at him.

Molly looked away.

Madame Pomfrey went to him at once, pulling out her wand, which made Jakob bolt. Percy grabbed him at the door and hauled him back in, fighting all the way.

"No! No wands! No more yelling! NO MORE BAD THING! NO MORE FIRE!" Jakob was screaming, as his toy dragon flew to the attack, spitting fire at Percy's head. Mr. Stuffings fell and kicked his shin, doing, of course, no damage at all with his stuffed foot. He growled, too.

"Never done that before!" Ron exclaimed. "Tha's my old bear! Where'd he find that?"

"You've been in Ronald's room?" Molly asked, finally looking at Jakob as Percy got him calmed down and Harry snatched the toy dragon out of the air. It bit him.

"OWWW! Never done that before?" Harry echoed Ron.

"You had _no_ business going in there!" Molly admonished him, as Jakob clung to Percy.

"I DIDN'T!" Jakob cried, "He came in MY room last night! _He_ unlocked the door!"

"You _locked_ him in his room all night?" Percy exclaimed.

"I did not! I was…distraught!" Molly protested. "The last thing I recall is Arthur telling me… and Andy, and the tea…"

"Dad," Percy growled.

"It was cold, I was hungry," Jakob whimpered. "Bear come and got me."

"You're the one who put an animation charm on him, Mum," Ron reminded her. "And Mr. Stuffings always did have a way of showing up when someone was upset."

"You sent him to bed, without dinner, locked him in, and with no warming charm?" Ginny surmised.

"I DIDN'T!" Molly repeated. "It must have been Arthur."

"I was bad," Jakob interrupted. "I was listening at the door. I took Teddy. I was bad," he repeated. "Just like my real daddy. I'm sorry."

The room went quiet.

"Who told him?" Percy demanded, his voice flat.

"I seen the papers, when I got up to eat an' go pee," Jakob said, so quietly that only Percy heard him. He held the boy's head on his shoulder, just long enough for Madame Pomfrey to scan him. Jakob then turned to her. "Are the other kids like Cam bad, too?" He asked. "Is that why no one wants us?"

No one said a word. No one knew _what_ to say.

"I want to go back with Cam," Jakob then declared. "Can I take my toys?"

Madame Pomfrey's face paled.

"Who's Cam?" Ron asked Ginny.

"Firstie, last year. Cameron Avery, Slytherin," She informed him. "Cameron's not in school this term. There aren't any Slytherin Seconds, and only one new Firstie, boy, that is."

"Oh," Ron mumbled.

"You don't want to live here anymore?" Percy asked the boy.

"They don't want me anymore, they _hate_ me," Jakob declared, which made Molly gasp.

"Why do you think that, Jake?" Harry asked him.

"They were shouting, made the baby cry. No one cared, neither! They were gonna hurt the baby! I had to hide him! I didn't mean to!" Jakob explained, choking on his words, "Grown-ups with wands, yelling, means hurt. Teddy was crying, an' no one cared! No one heard him but for me! I took him. Arthur was mad. He…he was gonna…hurt me!"

Jakob then pulled Teddy's sock and the dummy [pacifier] from his pocket.

"Why would dad get hysterical, when Jakob had played with Teddy all day, you said?" Ginny asked.

"The…the p-papers said…said…m-m-my…" Jakob tried to say, but he couldn't.

"Because Dolohov was the one who killed Remus Lupin," McGonagall informed them. "And the Prewett brothers. Arthur may have thought that the son had come to finish the father's work?"

"Arthur would _never _think such a thing!" Molly protested. "How can you even _say_ that, Minerva?"

"This is going to be a legal nightmare," Percy sighed, handing a resistant Jakob off to Ginny. He flicked his wand, transfiguring Jakob's small desk near the Floo. "But what other explanation for this kind of … abuse…is there?" He shook his head. "I was afraid it might come down to something like this, if we ever identified Jakob's real parents, although I'd hoped for – and expected – better of my own family. I'll work from here today, Mum, like it or not, as you don't need to be alone. And Jakob probably shouldn't be alone with you. And I'll call Miss Thimblebrass this evening. You and Dad are going to have a lot of explaining to do."

"What?!" Molly exclaimed. "Explain _what_?"

"Child neglect, for one," Percy stated flatly, making everyone flinch. "And starting the process of dissolving the…ahhh…" he glanced at Jakob, "Paperwork. I think I see where this is going."

Molly's jaw dropped. "How can you _say_ that to me?" She exclaimed in surprise. "Your _own_ mother and father? And just what are you doing dealing with these children, anyhow?"

"I can say it because it looks suspicious, Mum, and I'm doing it because _Kingsley_ dumped it in my lap – because no one else at the Ministry _wants_ to do it!" Percy then sat down to work, opening the Floo to his office and summoning several files and office supplies.

"Percy Ignatius Weasley!" Molly exclaimed again, "How _dare_ you?!"

"Ginny, go and get the boy some lunch, please," Percy suggested, and Ginny and Harry took him into the kitchen. Ron just gaped at his brother.

The clock struck twelve.

When everyone looked at it, they were shocked to see that a seventh hand had appeared: It carried a picture of Jakob, and it pointed to "Lost".

"Well then," Percy nodded, "I'd say the best place to start, before I call Miss Thimblebrass, is to find out why Jakob thinks you hate him and don't want him anymore." He threw some powder at the Floo. "Andromeda Tonks residence," he told it.

"Make it fast, I've got a sick kid here and a full moon tomorrow," Andromeda answered. "Oh, Percy! Not that I didn't expect this."

"You three take this," McGonagall handed Ron a portkey, "When you're done here, Mr. Weasley. Try and be back by dinner, won't you?" She then turned to Molly. "Think about this, Molly," Minerva told her old friend. "The boy is innocent, and you _know_ that."

Molly nodded and patted her hand. Then McGonagall vanished in a swirl of Apparation.

While Jakob had lunch with Harry, Ginny, and Ron, Percy took testimony from Andromeda. It surprised Molly just as much as it surprised him, and when they were done, Percy couldn't really find fault with his mother. After all, she'd fainted before anything had happened. "So it is your opinion that the revelation of Jakob's true identity was the catalyst in Mum's breakdown, and Dad's punishing him?" Percy persisted, and Andromeda agreed.

"What did he _do_ to him?" Andromeda asked, and Percy told her what Jakob had said.

"Oh, gods!" Molly groaned. "I can't…I would never allow…"

"HARRY!" Andromeda then shouted, "Get over here and take care of your cranky Godson! I have places to go, and heads to knock! I'll be there shortly!"

Harry, too shocked to refuse, ran to the Floo and vanished.

"Teddy's OK?" Jakob asked.

"Teddy is fine, honey," Ginny assured him. "He's just got a cold, is all."

"It's all my fault," Jakob whimpered, pushing aside his half-eaten lunch. "His feet got cold."

"Tha's all you're worried about?" Ron asked him.

Jakob shook his head, but before he could say anything, Uncle Percy came in and gave him a quill and parchment.

"Jakob, I want you to write down, best as you can, what happened after you took Teddy to your room. Can you do that for me?" Percy asked. "Miss Thimblebrass will need to know, you see."

"OK, so it's like schoolwork?" Jakob asked.

"Very important schoolwork, there's a good lad!" Percy patted his head. "Ginny, how do you feel about missing a few more classes?"

"Oh, I think I'll still graduate if I do, _sir_!" She smirked at him. "Since I'm making up Sixth Year, I still have a shot at being Head Girl next!"

"That's my little sister!" Percy smiled proudly. He smirked at Ron. "Well, at least you made Prefect," he added.

"Thanks awfully, Perce," Ron rolled his eyes. "I just can't believe this about Dad," he added, putting his head down. "I mean, yeah, it's a shock, but…?" He paused. "Why are you being such an arse, Perce?"

"I'm trying to shock her out of it," Percy explained.

Ginny watched Jakob start his 'homework'. "Ron, with the war and all? Who knows?" She sighed. "Who knows, about any of us, really?"

After about half an hour of writing, while the WWN played in the background, Jakob stopped to rest his hand. Molly came in to make some tea, and as she passed by the table, she patted Jakob's shoulder. "I had no idea, child," she said softly.

But that was all she said as she went about her usual daily business.

Jakob went back to work on his report, but a bit later, Percy came back in. "Why don't you and Aunt Ginny go on up to your room, now, Jakob?" Percy suggested, "Show her your blocks, or draw some pretty pictures?"

"OK," Jakob agreed.

"Silence the room," Percy whispered to Ginny, who nodded in acknowledgment. "Ronald, you come with me."

Once they were upstairs, Andromeda emerged from the Floo with Arthur, who was fit to be tied. His suit was rumpled, and it looked as if he might have gone a few rounds with a Blast-Ended Skrewt – and lost.

"Percy, what is the _meaning_ of this?" Arthur demanded, glaring at Andromeda. Then he pointed at her. "This…WOMAN!…stormed into my office, accusing me of child abuse, and _then_ she became violent!"

"I wonder why?" Percy raised an eyebrow. "Now, would you care to state for the Ministry, Mr. Weasley, just what took place here at the Burrow last night in regards to the neglect of Jakob Dolohov? Or would you rather do it when Felicia Thimblebrass arrives?"

"I can manage that _right now_," Andromeda snorted, as off she went to fetch her.

A few minutes later, and Felicia Thimblebrass emerged from the Floo, carrying a briefcase.

"_Tell _me this isn't true!" She immediately demanded of Percy. "An investigation into neglect, and dissolution of the adoption?"

"I'm afraid it is, Miss," Percy conceded, glaring at his parents, "And for what it's worth, I expected a lot better. I must now officially question the capability of my own parents to raise a small child."

"Percy!" Ron exclaimed.

"Ronald, your official capacity in this manner is to bear witness to this inquest," Percy informed him. "If you cannot do that, or do not wish to, then you can leave. I will summon someone else, perhaps Narcissa Malfoy?" He hinted. "Someone more dispassionate?"

Ron acquiesced at once with a huff. "I can't believe this," He groused, however.

Percy then conjured a small bell for Jakob's borrowed desk, and opened a new parchment with a Dicta-Quill. He tapped the bell with his wand. "On the authority of the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, this inquest into the matter of the dissolution of the pending adoption of, and termination of foster care of the displaced magical child, Jakob Lukas Dolohov, will proceed in an orderly fashion at this time," Percy stated clinically.

"You're taking _his _side over your own parents?" Arthur snorted.

"We thought _you_ were on his side, Mr. Weasley," Percy retorted, "Or at least, you had led us to believe that, _before_ you found out the boy's true identity."

"Don't you call me Mr…" Arthur began, but Percy cut him off.

"May I remind you, sir, that I am now here in official Ministry capacity?" Percy stated bluntly.

"And after all the glowing reports about you," Felicia shook her head. "You were the _last_ people I expected to build up a child's hopes like this, and then smash them right in front of him. I'll assume you wish for my shelter to take the boy back now?"

Arthur seemed torn. Finally he replied.

"You've _got_ to," Arthur nodded. "I can't allow Molly to be put through this kind of stress!"

"What stress is that, sir?" Felicia demanded. "What has the _boy_ done to cause this undue stress? Something so out of line that the parents of six other children, successful ones at that, can't handle?"

Arthur fumbled for words, but Molly said nothing. She just sat, listening, glancing at the stairwell now and again.

"It…it's not what he _did,_ so to say," Arthur said, "I mean, he's not burnt the house down, or anything, it's just that he's…he's…" Arthur took a deep breath, holding Molly's hand. "He's the son of the man who murdered my wife's brothers, brutally at that! He, Mr. Dolohov, that is, was also the man who killed Teddy Lupin's father. We don't feel that it's right for us to keep _his_ son, as Teddy is our…honorary grandson."

"You still feel Jakob's a threat to the baby?" Felicia asked.

"I _did_," Arthur admitted, "And looking back, I … I may have been wrong. I thought he was going to…to hurt…Teddy."

"_Seriously,_ Dad?" Ron cut in. "How could you _think_ that, if he was here that long, Jake would have done him in long before then!"

"Good point, but you're a bit out of order, Ronald," Percy said. "However, I will allow this point."

"You _knew_ that there was a strong likelihood that Jakob would be identified as a Death Eater orphan," Felicia countered. "Yet you agreed to the terms, in full knowledge of this fact?"

"We did, but we never dreamed…" Arthur began.

"So noted," Percy stated. "Foster parents were totally informed of all eventualities."

"You said no one was _ever_ coming for him!" Arthur protested.

"And _you _agreed that there were still other avenues to explore, in that it wasn't right to not do so, sir, and 'steal him' from his rightful family, if any," Percy countered coldly, "And I did just that, _at your_ request."

"So what it comes down to," Felicia added, "Is that it's the fact that he came from the _wrong_ family? It would be all right if he had been orphaned by the Carrows? Or perhaps the Rookwoods?"

Arthur looked gobsmacked. "I can't believe you'd do this to your own mother, Percy," he complained.

"No, Arthur, _we_ did this," Molly finally spoke up. "_We_ made a terrible mistake."

"So you _do_ wish for the shelter to take Jakob back?" Felicia insisted. "You don't want him here any longer?"

Molly slowly nodded. Percy and Ron gaped at her.

"I…I'm not sure I can properly c-care for Jakob now, now that I know," Molly confessed, covering her face. "Just look at what's already happened to him because of me!"

"You _have_ to take him back, Miss," Arthur growled, "And let's get this madness over with! Can't you see what it's doing to her?" He gestured at his wife, "Having to look at the son of the man who murdered her family?"

"Mr. Weasley, I do not HAVE to do _any_ such thing," Miss Thimblebrass retorted. "In fact, I _cannot _take him back, as per Ministry guidelines. I do not have an empty bed for him, nor the space to conjure one, which could well vanish by morning, thus spilling him onto the floor."

"Where was he sleeping before?" Molly asked.

"He was sharing a bed with Cameron Avery, who will soon be discharged from St. Mungo's and returned to me. I can't give _his_ spot to someone else, and I'll be in enough trouble, that is, now that the Ministry knows I'd be in violation of code." She paused, and pulled a face. "_Code_, which just recently came into existence, at that. Although no one seemed to mind when the orphans of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff were packed in like sardines. Of course, those children sold out faster than half-price broomsticks," she added haughtily.

"Mr. Weasley, isn't it true that you were opposed to the fostering of Jakob Lukas Dolohov three months ago?" Percy asked.

"I was," Arthur sniffed.

"But you came to like him, in time, didn't you?" Percy persisted. "You even taught him magic, auto mechanics, and worked with him on his schoolwork at this desk? You even let him assist in the restoration of a 1974 Muggle motorcar, a Volkswagen Beetle, in fact, bonding over it as father and son would?"

"I…we did," Arthur had to admit.

"And you both allowed him to call you 'mum and dad'?" Felicia added.

"We did," Molly stated.

"_**Why**_?" Percy hit them hard with the question. "What twisted pleasure does it give you to crush the dreams of a little child like this?"

"PERCY!" They both snapped at him.

"You will answer the question, or I will hold you both in contempt," Percy promised. He looked pained, however. "What you two also fail to realize, in your being so damn selfish, is the fine line you're making me walk – and may I add, that line is a razor's edge! One wrong move, and _I'm_ cut to ribbons, too!"

"This is a conflict of interest, then!" Arthur attempted.

"There's no one else willing _to_ do it, sir," Percy reminded him. "Since, might I remind you, that no one seems to give a god god-damn about these SLYTHERIN children!" He conjured a pitcher and glasses, filling them with an Aquamenti charm. After a drink, Percy added, "And might I remind you, _Dad_, that _you_ came to _me_ in this matter? _You_ wanted to formally adopt him, even going so far as to change his name, to surprise Mum at Christmas?"

The room went quiet.

Molly made a small sound. She looked up in surprise. "You…you were going to _do_ that, Arthur?"

"I…I knew how bad you wanted another child," Arthur confessed, palming his face, "I saw how in pain you were, and how Jakob seemed to ease that pain just by being here. And I…I stared to like…like him, too," he went on. "He sort of…filled up the empty space, you know."

"We're aware of your recent loss, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," Felicia nodded, "But it seems to me as if you were simply shopping for a replacement for your son, Fred, weren't you?" she added mercilessly.

Molly began to tremble. From the mantelpiece, the pictures all looked on in shock.

"YOU GO TOO FAR, MISS!" Arthur shouted at her.

"Sir, you are out of order," Percy informed him, his own hand trembling. "Answer the question."

Ron had bowed his head. "End this, Perce, please," he begged.

"It was so…so quiet here on the first of September," Molly then spoke up, wringing her hands as she got herself a glass of water. "I've never…never had to deal with so much quiet. I didn't know what to do?" She went on, almost sounding whimsical, "I…I saw them, you know: Bill, Charlie, Percy, the Twins, Ronald, Ginny. I guess it was a daydream? Then it was gone, and I was here all alone. And all I could think about was those poor children at the shelter," She flicked her wand and summoned the old flyer, the first they'd received that day in Hogsmeade. "It was like Jakob was…speaking to me, somehow." She sighed and turned to stare into the kitchen. "It was a selfish thing to do," she admitted. "I dragooned Arthur into it, forced him. But I was happy to see the two of them getting on so well, even though it took weeks. I thought…we'd be a family. Give him back something he'd lost. I thought I still had something…to give. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps, yes, it's because of _who_ he is. I just don't know anymore."

"Mrs. Weasley," Felicia said, "I sympathize. Don't think I don't know your pain. I know you've suffered losses in this war. But so has Jakob. So have all the children. So have I. My parents were both Muggleborns. Do I need to explain _that_ statement?"

"No," Ron whispered.

"And sadly, it's these children that are paying for it, now," Felicia then stood up, and opened her briefcase. She pulled out a new parchment, containing a new agreement. "Unfortunately, there is nowhere else for Jakob to go. You have no choice but to keep him, I'm afraid, until I can make other arrangements for him. As you stated that he saw the Battle, and was so traumatized by it, I will probably be able to admit him to St. Mungo's psychiatric ward, in the children's division. Perhaps they have a bed open."

They all stared at her in disbelief.

"You'd be putting him in a mental ward?" Arthur asked.

"Right next to ol' Malfoy, I wonder?" Ron piped up.

"There must be _some_ other option?" Molly gasped, "That's monstrous! Jakob's come so far, made so much progress!"

"The other option, as I was about to say," Felicia resumed, "Is that you keep him until after Christmas, in foster care only. You will be paid a stipend from seized Death Eater assets, in fact, his own father might well be paying for his care. After that time, if we've found a home to take him, Jakob will go there. If not, he will go to St. Mungo's until a home opens up for him. If that never happens - and the older he gets, I'll remind you, the slimmer the chances of _that_ - he will remain there until his seventeenth birthday, upon which he will be paid a small amount to establish a life, and then be released into the Muggle world to fend for himself."

"How can you _do_ that, if he's magical?" Arthur gasped.

Felicia shrugged. "If you care to know, sir. Once he turns eleven, if he's still there, he will be stripped of his magic in a rather ghastly treatment. Our Muggle Liaison Office will then attempt to place him in care with a Muggle family. He will, in effect, be rendered a Squib, his memory altered, and then ejected from our world."

There was an awkward silence.

Molly and Arthur exchanged a long look.

Finally, Molly nodded.

"We'll keep him until the New Year," Arthur agreed, as he made to sign the papers.

"So be it," Percy declared. He then rang his bell, then dissolved his makeshift office.

wiki/Antonin_Dolohov, quoted

Again, our special guest star, Mr. Stuffings, appears courtesy of TenthWeasley, one of my favorite authors at HPFF!


	7. Chapter 7-The Quibbler

**7**

**The Quibbler**

Jakob was bored.

There was no help for it; he was bored.

That, and he'd quickly noticed that things were somehow different at the Burrow after the night that Ginny had played with him in his room for long.

For starters, she'd brought dinner to his room and play-acted like they were eating out at a restaurant. Then they'd played some more, made some more drawings for her to take with her, and then she'd gotten him ready for his bath. After she'd deemed him clean (having even let him wash his own hair), Ginny had put him to bed and read him a story. But when she'd been ready to go, which Jakob didn't think was right, because he wasn't even yawing yet, he felt like he had to ask her something.

He'd hoped she wouldn't be angry with him.

"Molly and Arthur don't like me anymore because of my real daddy, do they?"

Ginny's voice had caught in her throat, but she'd tried to assure him that such wasn't the case at all. She'd said it was just stress, and things would be back to normal in a few days.

But at least she'd left his door open, and she'd let Mr. Stuffings stay with him. Jakob had been glad of that; it had taken him a long time to fall asleep.

That had been about a week ago, Jacob knew, because he'd learned how to read the calendar just by watching Molly and Arthur looking at it. It hadn't been hard to figure out that "S" was for Sunday, "M" for Monday, and the rest. It must be very interesting, he thought, since they both looked at it so much. And so, when no one was looking (which was most of the time now), he'd read it through. He saw the words "Winter Solstice," "Christmas", "Boxing Day", and "New Years Eve". He thought it might be Friday the 12th, but he wasn't really sure; it could be Thursday, he thought. He was pretty sure that he was bored, though, and he hoped it would be the 13th soon. The calendar said "Ginny, Ron, Harry home" for that day, and Jakob thought that school might be out for them for this Christmas-thing. He wondered why they went to school with other kids when he had to sit home alone for it.

Jakob missed Ginny, Ron and Harry.

It had all started the day after the adults had had their long talk, which Jakob assumed was about him. Molly didn't come to get him up anymore. His alarm clock did that. He washed up by himself, and dressed himself. Breakfast would always be ready when he came down, just like usual, but neither one of them seemed to have much to say to him anymore. And since he was trying to be a good boy and not upset them anymore, or make them have more stress (whatever that was), he just ate quietly and waited for someone to say something.

Anything.

"That was nice, dear." – "Thank you, have a good day at work." – "You too." – "Can you stop at _on the way home and get me a _?"

Jakob wondered why they didn't smile anymore, though. It felt like he'd moved into a different house that looked exactly the same.

He wondered why they didn't talk to him at meals anymore.

After breakfast, he would go to his desk and do his schoolwork as usual. Lately, he'd taken to having Mr. Stuffings come and sit on a small stool with him. How the bear held a quill, Jakob had no idea, but he did. That, and his writing looked like little pictures that were impossible to read. Jakob wondered it was 'bear language'. "Wish I could read 'bear'," he mumbled to himself a lot.*

Molly would help him if he got stuck, then she'd check his work, but she didn't have anything nice to say about it anymore. All she said was things like "that's right," or "you've got that part mastered". Jakob wondered what the point was of doing it anymore, if it didn't make her happy anymore? Then she'd go back to sitting in her chair, knitting, and listening to the WWN. They were playing a lot of songs about Christmas, Jakob learned by listening, but he still wasn't sure what the whole Christmas-thing was all about. Yet he still watered the tree every day, even though no one had decorated it. That much he knew, from when they'd went to get it. They'd hung some decorations here and there, some day before the big talk, but none on the tree. Mummy…Molly had told him that they would all do it together when Daddy…Arthur, had time.

Jakob supposed they just didn't have time, since Christmas was in about two rows of blocks less a few on the calendar. He thought it silly to do all that work for just two weeks of having a pretty tree anyway. Besides, Jakob liked the tree just fine like it was. It smelled nice and it was green when everything outside was brown and dead.

They would have lunch just at twelve, and Molly would ask him if it was all right, and if he was full. Jakob would smile and politely reply that he was, thank you, and did she want him to clean up? But he didn't have to do that anymore. Molly would just flick her wand, and the mess would clean itself. A few more hours of schoolwork, or reading, and then she would have him put on his Wellingtons and a heavy coat and hat to go outside and "exercise".

More and more, Jakob began to feel like she just wanted him out of the house.

He thought it might be the weather, which didn't bother him that it was cold – so long as it wasn't raining. He really wished it would snow. He didn't know why he remembered snow, but he did, and he knew he liked it. He wished there were other kids to play with, too. He'd have even been glad to see that silly little Dorothea-girl, the one who'd called him a "war orphan".

But there were no other kids, and in fact, not another house that Jacob could even see, unless he climbed an apple tree and looked towards the half-built tower way off near where the ground and sky met. He wondered if anyone lived in it, and if so, did they have kids? Would _they_ want to play with him? It didn't look like they had trees, so Jakob thought they couldn't see him at all.

He missed Cam. Cam had always played with him.

And since he was very bored, and since Molly didn't seem to care what he did anymore, he went toddling down the way one day to satisfy his curiosity – and to just have something to do.

It took him a while to get there. In fact, he had blisters on the backs of his heels from his Wellingtons rubbing them when he finally got there. That didn't matter to Jakob, though, because the place looked so interesting. It looked like a castle from his chess game, and when he got closer, he could see that it was being rebuilt. It looked to him like the top had been blown off not long ago, and there was a huge sheet of tarpaulin covering it with cables that went way out into the yard. There were bushes all around the front, too, but the leaves had fallen off. There was a sign that said "PLEASE KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS!" Jakob wondered what that was. He knew what a plum was, but what was a "drigable"?

And since he was very bored, and since he was very curious, he walked up and knocked on the door.

CRASH! **WHOOP!** THUD! **AIGH!**

"Uh oh," Jakob muttered, thinking that he should probably run away. Surely he had interrupted something important.

Then the door flew open, and a frazzled-looking man with wild white hair came bursting out. He was wearing a lilac robe, small spectacles that almost fell off his nose, and Jakob thought he looked rather comical.

"About _time_ you got here!" He called, looking all around.

"Erm, down here, sir?" Jakob offered.

"AIGH!" The man screamed, jumping back. Then he looked closely at Jakob. "You're not the WPS deliveryman?"

"Sorry, sir?"

"Wizards' Parcel Service," he explained, giving the boy a scan with his wand before Jakob even saw him pull it out. "Well don't just stand there, it's cold out! Say, aren't you that Jacob-fellow that the Weasleys are fostering, I wonder? Doris told me something about it?"

"Yes, sir," Jakob replied, politely wiping his boots before coming in.

"Xenophilius Lovegood," the old fellow introduced himself. "My daughter, Luna, goes to school with your foster sister, Ginny, and with Ron, I hear." He offered his hand. Jakob smiled and shook it, happy that someone was at least talking to him now. "Just call me Xeno," the old man added, running back to whatever had fallen over when Jakob had knocked.

He looked all around the round room, which was like a living room that bled into a kitchen that bled into a workshop and back around again. Jakob found it quite interesting, especially the big machine that was running and spitting out papers that were flying into stacks where another machine grabbed them and bound them all together.

"You make books!" Jakob exclaimed.

"Magazines, actually," Xeno replied. "It's called **The Quibbler**, nothing like that rag of a paper, the **Daily Prophet**. Unlike them, _I _print the truth for the masses!"

"Like what?" Jakob wondered.

"Like the fact that the Crumple-Horned Snorkack is migrating towards the northern French coast, across Germay, of course, from the northeast and leaving Sweden!" Xeno exclaimed.

"Wow!" Jakob gasped. Then he pulled a face. "What's a 'snorkel-ack?"

And so Xeno explained it while he served hot Gurdyroot tea. Jakob rather liked it, after a teaspoon of sugar, a dash of cinnamon, and a spot of honey, which Xeno thought was genius.

As the printing presses whirred away, Xeno asked, "So what brings you all the way down here on such a nippy day?"

"I was looking for some other kids. I'm bored. I wished it would snow."

"Any day, now," Xeno assured him. "The clouds are just right for it! It's like they're waiting on something, though! Oh, I hope you can come back day after tomorrow, when my Luna gets home! She'd love to meet you and hear about your insights into making tea!"

"Is she my age? Does she go to school?" Jakob spilled out a dozen questions in reply.

They chatted for a good hour, when Xeno asked, "So, how old are you? Surely too young for Hogwarts next year?"

Jakob looked away. "Eight. I don't think I'll get to go there, sir," he replied, "My friend Cam went there, and they chucked him out this year. His cousin gets to go, though, 'cause he's a Ravenclaw and not a Slytherin."

Xeno nearly choked on his tea, shooting it out his nose.

"Who is this 'Cam', and where'd they chuck him TO?!" Xeno wondered.

And so Jakob told him all about the shelter, Cam, Miss Thimblebrass, and how the Weasleys had almost adopted him.

"But that was before Uncle Percy found out my real name was 'Jakob Lukas Dolohov'. My dad was a bad man, sir, and now the Weasleys don't like me anymore. I think they're gonna chuck me out, too." Jakob explained it all. "Molly won't talk to me anymore, and Arthur won't even look at me. Percy came the other night, and Mrs. Tonks, and they all were shouting, then they all sort of…forgot about me when I went to my room. I was scared they'd hurt the baby, so I hid with him."

"Why would they do that? They're the kindest folks around!" Xeno disagreed. "Known them for years!"

"When grown-ups get wands and shout, kids get hurt," Jakob explained. "The dog-man and the bad lady who looks Mrs. Tonks, but she isn't, but she's like her sister, I think, they did that. But the nice lady with hair like yours, it was her house, she never did. I liked her. Cam said his teachers used to hurt him, too, if he did bad in school last year, so I don't wanna go there."

Xeno dropped his teacup and gasped, his face pale.

"I'm sorry!" Jakob cried, "I didn't mean to make you sad, sir!" He jumped up. "I'll clean it up! Then I'll go! Don't tell anyone!" He was beginning to work himself up into a state, but Xeno saw it and got him calmed back down. He made him some more tea, with a tiny touch of Valerian root this time so that boy wouldn't have an anxiety attack or something.

"STOP THE PRESSES!" He waved his wand, and the machines all ground to a halt.

"Now, Jake, it's all right. I'm not sad, just surprised is all! Can you tell me all about how you came to be at the shelter, and what it was like?" Xeno asked.

And since Jakob was lonely, and since Mr. Xeno was interested, he did just that.

"Where HAVE you been?" Molly shouted, as Jakob came toddling in the door. He was very muddy, and it had begun to drizzle. His yellow knit hat was soaked, as was his red coat. His boots were in a state as well. "I tried a Revellio Spell, a Summoning Charm, a Locator Hex, and nothing! I was about to call the Aurors on you to report a missing persons case!"

"I went to see Mr. Xeno in his stump," Jakob explained. "And we had Jerky-root tea, and I learned about Crumbled-Horny Snorkel-acks, Nargles, and Dur-rooj-able Plums!"

Molly sighed and threw up her hands. "Lovegood?! Oh, tha's jus' brilliant," She complained. "You know those Snorky-things aren't real, right?" She sounded very stern, and Jakob stepped back.

"I'm sorry, I should have said I wanted to go, but I seen the stump…"

"His tower, you mean?" Molly asked.

"Yes, Ma'am, and it looked so neat, I just thought…I'd go…since…since…"

"I was worried _sick_!" Molly interrupted him, as she grabbed up his wet clothes and stripped him to his pants. "Hot bath, now! I'll bring tea in a bit! What did you do, roll with the hogs?"

"I fell down, Molly," Jakob offered, and Molly saw his skinned knee and torn trousers.

She pulled her wand, to mend the boy's knee, but Jakob's eyes went wide and he bolted up the stairs screaming, "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry!"

The clock ticked.

Jakob's boots dripped mud on the floor.

"Oh, dear," Molly breathed, realizing what the boy must have thought. She sat down upon the bottom stair. She'd shouted at him, pulled her wand, begun barking orders, and very obviously frightened him. It hit her hard, and in that moment, she also realized that the boy was expecting to be punished.

Probably quite severely.

But wasn't she already doing that? She hadn't been talking to him. She didn't praise his work anymore. She didn't read to him, or tuck him in. She thought back to breakfast and lunch, all week long, and the quiet dinners where she'd been nothing more than a cook and waitress. In fact, she knew, she'd been totally ignoring him. No eight year old should put himself to bed every night.

He'd just called her "Molly".

Jakob didn't call her 'mummy' anymore.

Percy had been right, hadn't he? Molly wondered.

But of all the children in the world to have chosen, had she chosen that one and likely ONLY one that her family simply could not accept?

Dolohov…

"Oh, _Merlin_! What AM I _doing_?!" She cried, suddenly remembering that muddy boots and a few hours of missing time were nothing compared to what Fred and George had done to her on a regular basis.

"Honestly, woman, and you call yourself our mother!" Two of the pictures reminded her.

She looked up, but the clock's hand for Jakob still said "lost".

"But he's _just_ here!" Molly argued with it.

The hand didn't move.

_That child is innocent, you know,_ Minerva had reminded her.

"Hot bath, hot soup, straight to bed, and he'll _stay_ there! All that way, he'll be frozen and catch cold!" She then declared, as she charged up the stairs in pursuit of Jakob.

Later that evening, when Arthur enquired as to the boy's whereabouts, Molly told him all about it. "He had a big day," she said.

"Did he, now?" Arthur wondered, not sure what to make of it all. "What did he do?"

Molly glanced up sharply.

"He went to see Xeno," Molly informed him.

Arthur smacked his forehead and palmed his face.

"Quibbler, Quibbler!" Luna Lovegood was calling, waving about a magazine as she roamed the aisle of the Hogwarts Express the next day. "Snorkacks on the move, and homeless children at Christmas! **Quibbler**?" She asked, poking her nose into the compartment shared by Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and a small Firstie boy in a Slytherin robe. His head was on Hermione's shoulder, and he seemed to have fallen asleep.

"Oh, yes, please!" Ginny reached for one, as did Neville.

"You know, this is the last ride home for Christmas we'll ever have," Ron mused, as Ginny opened the **Quibbler**.

"I never had many, I always stayed," Harry said.

"I was abducted from the last one," Luna reminded them. Neville shivered.

"It's so nostalgic," Hermione sighed. "I remember the first time, I rode back with you, Neville, and Seamus and Dean, and Lavender, I think."

Ron flinched.

"HOLY SHITE!" Ginny then exclaimed, "HARRY!" She grabbed him by the necktie and yanked his head down and over, pointing at the paper. "Read this! Holy mother of Merlin, look at this!"

"suh'matter?" The little boy looked up, sounding foggy.

"Nothing, Tristan, go back to sleep," Hermione told him, as she leaned over too.

"Oh boy," Neville observed, "Isn't this the boy you're all adopting, Ginny?"

On the cover of the Quibbler was a sad child holding a cup of tea, staring out the window of what looked like a wrecked house. The caption read: "SOMEWHERE I BELONG?"

The boy was Jakob.

A shelter flyer fell out on the floor.

The headline on page two of the Quibbler read:

MEET 'JACK' & THE ORPHANS OF WAR

**No One Wants a Mini-Death Eater****?**

Their names are all familiar. Household words, in fact. Hardly a wizarding family alive today (and a few not, thanks to them) doesn't know the name or face of the likes of Avery, Dolohov, Rossier, LeStrange, Jugson, Mulciber, Warrington, and the list goes on and on – the followers of the Dark Lord – the Death Eaters.

_**It is a foregone conclusion that the recent war terribly damaged us all, as well as Hogwarts, where The Final Battle was fought. Ironically, while the damage to our beloved institute of learning has been repaired over the summer, it would seem that our own attitudes towards one another have not. Sadly, this point is clearly demonstrated by the very existence of **_**The Charity Burbage Shelter for Displaced Magical Children**_**. Or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that it is so demonstrated by the children who inhabit it.**_

_**Named for the recently deceased former professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, the shelter is located in Hogsmeade. It was founded some days after the Battle, as Aurors and common folk alike began to find stray children with nowhere to go, having lost everything to the war. Run by one Miss Felicia Thimblebrass, the shelter soon began placing orphaned children in proper homes, with many of them soon finding permanent adoption with caring families.**_

_**It has come to our attention here at the Quibbler, however, that many are still there and in need of good homes. Shockingly, a quick search of Ministry records reveals that only the children of former Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw families have been placed with a family. The only children left behind come from Slytherin families, and/or families of former Death Eaters.**_

"How'd he get Ministry records?" Harry snorted.

"Percy," Ron shrugged. "Gotta be!"

"Is that true?" Neville wondered.

"Go on, then!" Hermione urged Ginny. "Read more!"

I recently had the good fortune to find one such waif on my doorstep one gray, chilly morning. The poor boy was lonely, bored, and only in search of another child to play with him. As I welcomed him in, and he politely introduced himself without a hint of Dark Magic to be found on him, I soon found that his only wish was for snow and someone to play with.

He then related to me his heartbreaking story of how he'd been dragged out into the night by his natural parents, Death Eaters, to witness the horrors of The Dark Lord's attack upon Hogwarts. He describes in vivid detail the overrunning of the school by 'bad men', 'big men' (Giants), and the spiders who wanted to eat him.

Only after the Battle was lost to the Dark Lord's forces, did the boy move from his vantage point in the forest to seek help, eventually coming into Hogsmeade and taking up residence with the goat, Essie, belonging to Aberforth Dumbledore. It is very likely that Essie saved the boy's life. Our favorite barkeep then placed the traumatized boy in the care of Miss Thimblebrass at her shelter.

Unable to identify the boy, as he was rendered mute and an amnesiac by his ordeal, she struggled to find a home for him and named him "Jack". Miraculously, she was able to place the damaged child with none other than the celebrated Weasley Family of Ottery St. Catchpole. There, the boy began his long recovery, eventually regaining his speech and relating his tale of horrors. It seemed that he had, after waiting all summer, finally found a loving home in which to recover from his ordeal.

However, as we all know, life is seldom fair – even to an innocent child.

After much work, spanning as far as Moscow, Russia, by our sister organization, The Eastern European Society of Sorcery, Percy Weasley was able to identify the boy and begin the search for his parents.

Unfortunately for this boy, Mr. Percy Weasley was successful.

The boy in our cover picture, whom the Weasleys so selflessly took in, was in fact Jakob Lukas Dolohov, age eight.

"It were Dolohov who killed Molly Weasley's brothers, the Prewett boys," Mrs. Doris Crockford tells this publication. "And he got Remus Lupin, too, the father of Harry Potter's godson, Teddy. And we all know that Harry Potter is just as well a Weasley. I couldn't believe it when I learned that the adorable little boy I'd seen her (Molly) with in Diagon Alley was the son of that madman! I thought to myself, 'Doris, it takes a special kind of woman, a better one than me, I admit, to do such a thing – take in a child that come from such a life'. It warms my heart to see that there still exists such kindness and charity in this world, especially after what You-Know-Who and his forces did to all of us."

"How did Xeno find this out?" Harry gasped.

"Apparently Jakob wandered off," Hermione guessed, as they read on.

"Oh, my!" Ginny mumbled, reading ahead:

Mrs. Crockford, however, seems to have been wrong in her appraisal of Jakob's new family.

After a pleasant afternoon of conversation and tea, the former of which the little fellow seemed starved for, Jakob informed me that, "They don't like me anymore, because my real daddy was a bad man. I'll be going back to Cam and Miss Thimblebrass at the shelter, I guess. But it's OK, with all the kids there; I like that."

'Cam' is one Cameron Avery, Slytherin Firstie last term, expelled for an alleged nervous collapse given him at the hands of the Carrows and others during what should have been a very special time for him at Hogwarts. Cameron Avery is also homeless, and currently being treated by St. Mungo's in the children's mental ward, as well as suffering from pneumonia in having run away from the shelter. Oddly enough, one would think that the Slytherin students had it very good last year?

Guess not?

Jakob then went on to tell this publication that while it was nice living with Cam and Miss Thimblebrass at the shelter, that the food wasn't very good and he really wished that he'd had shoes, as his feet got cold. When asked why he didn't just run away, Jakob told us that it was too cold to go out barefoot in just a thin dressing gown, and that the children had no other clothes.

This begs the question, just what IS the Ministry doing in its handling of these children?

Must we ask ourselves, and I think we must, what DID these children DO to deserve such harsh treatment?  
Why haven't the rest been placed in proper care yet? Why are there school-aged children THERE, and not at Hogwarts? Why does Miss Thimblebrass have only such a limited support staff, including one batty old House Elf named Croaker?

Perhaps it was, in fact, too much to ask of a family already so torn by tragedy, in that their son, Fred…

-story continues on page 12-

"Kreacher," Harry had to snicker.

"Dad's gonna have a stroke," Ron predicted.

"So's Kreacher," Harry agreed.

"That's just…intense," Neville shook his head. "I…I have to wonder? It's like, how would I take if I saw a kid named LeStrange on my doorstep? Would I just…shut the door in his face?"

No one knew what to say.

"Harry," Ginny finally spoke up, looking from Neville to him, "You don't think that Mum…?"

"NO," Harry cut in harshly, "Molly would never hurt Jakob. We know that! That was all an accident, that night."

"I just hope the Burrow's still standing when we get there," Ron added.

"Wh-whu? Err we derr yet?" Tristan slurred, just waking up.

Hermione hugged him tighter and sniffed. "At least this one has a family to go home to," She said softly.

"So does Jakob," Ginny disagreed, her voice full of defiance as she faced the others. "We're beyond this, Harry! If it comes down to it, then our Godson will just have a big brother, now, won't he, Harry?"

"'our'?!" Ron squeaked. "You said 'our'? Teddy's not your…" He then went very, very pink. "Oy! Something you wanna share with us, mate?!" He demanded of Harry.

"We eloped," Harry smiled deviously at him.

Ron fainted.

"HARRY! That was just cruel!" Hermione admonished him, as Harry and Ginny laughed.

"You married, sir?" Tristan wondered, which only made them laugh more.

When the Hogwarts Express rolled into Kings Cross, the platform was a mob of anxious families waiting to take their children home for Christmas. Harry was even surprised to see Andromeda standing there, with a squirming Teddy in her arms. "HEHW-WEE!" The baby squealed in delight, his hair turning black, and his eyes green. "It had to be his first word, of course, he couldn't say 'Gran'," Andromeda smiled, handing the baby off to Harry.

"Ma'am?" Harry wondered.

"It's been a long time since I stood here," Andromeda told him, putting her arm in his free one as Teddy laughed and tried to grab Harry's glasses.

Hermione then came leading a somewhat catatonic Ron along. "He was joking, Ronald!" She kept shouting at him. Ginny kept laughing at him.

"What's wrong with him?" Andromeda asked.

Ron pointed at Harry and Ginny, eyes glassy. "Eloped!" He mumbled. "My sister! My best mate! Eloped!"

"IT WAS A JOKE, RONALD!" Hermione slapped him, which seemed to bring him out of it.

"What'd you do that for, you lunatic?" Ron demanded of her.

"Maybe next year, Ron," Harry nudged him. Teddy cooed at him. Ron looked horrified.

Neville gave Teddy a quick tickle, then took his leave of them.

"I saw the article in the Quibbler," Andromeda went on. "Bit brash for Xeno, isn't it? I can't believe he'd do that to Molly and Arthur."

Harry shook his head. "Rita Skeeter and the Prophet lied about me in my 4th Year," Harry explained. "Xeno only told the truth. I think I need to go and see him, come to think," Harry nodded.

"Have you seen Mum?" Ginny asked, seemingly unruffled. "Has she seen it yet?"

"I don't think your folks want to see me," Andromeda sighed. "I was pretty harsh with them, especially Arthur, before he asked me to leave."

"Good!" Ginny snorted.

"Dad asked YOU to leave?" Ron gaped at her, and Andromeda nodded. "What did you say…Ma'am?" He added the title hastily.

"I sort of went 'all-Bella' on him for how he feels about Jakob now, remember," Andromeda shrugged.

"Oh, look, they're just there!" Ginny then pointed. "Well, Mum that is."

In the mob of people, they could just make out a bright red coat and a woven wooly hat in all possible colors. Molly stepped forward, holding Jakob's hand. She was looking very misty as they all looked at her. "What's wrong?!" Molly gasped.

They all looked at Molly. Then they looked at Jakob, who had puffy eyes and a red nose. He sneezed once. "Back home, and back to bed!" She informed the boy. "He just had to come, he did! Couldn't wait to see you! He's caught his death running around in the cold!"

"I was gone to the village all day once, 'for she found me!" Ron reminded them proudly.

"Were you really?" Jakob piped up, sounding stuffy.

"You…you haven't seen the Quibbler, have you, Molly?" Andromeda asked, as the two seemed to notice one another for the first time.

"No, but I had to turn the Floo off?" Molly replied curtly. "Seems to be an article in the thing about our boy here?" She gestured at Jakob. "Lots of nasty calls! Do you have a copy?"

Andromeda handed her one. Molly went pale as she read the words "No One Wants a Mini-Death Eater?"

"I'm not saying a word, and you can keep it," Andromeda added.

"GOODBYE, PROFESSORS!" A boy's voice called, "HAPPY CHRISTMAS!"

They all turned to see Tristan Scott standing there with his parents, waving. His mother was trying to fix his traveling cloak, and fussing about a chocolate stain on his green and silver jumper. The Trio waved back, and then the happy family Disapparated.

"Oh, Andy," Molly then blushed, looking ashamed, but still holding Jakob's hand – which was clad in a bright yellow mitten, "It's…it's going to take some time, but…I…you were right, Andy," She conceded. "I was in a state, and I…I don't know what to do? I've been horrible all week! Just horrible! I don't even seem to know what to say to Arthur anymore!"

"I seem to recall having had a similar row with Dora, once, about having Remus in my house," Andromeda admitted, and for a moment, the students all wondered if wands were about to be drawn. Then, suddenly, everything seemed to be all right between them as they linked arms.

"Wha's that about?" Ron asked.

"It's a girl-thing, Ronald," Hermione replied.

"Yeah, but Mum should be…"

"Shut up, Ron," Ginny nudged him.

"I'sh not dat bad," Jakob sniffled, as Andromeda knowingly patted Molly's arm.

"Oh, it's gonna be!" Ron warned them, reminding them of the magazine with Jakob's picture on the cover.

"Dat'sh me!" Jakob sneezed again, pointing and bouncing on the spot.

"Oh dear," Molly groaned, as they all Apparated away to the Burrow.

"This is creepy," Ron observed of his clean room, as they all settled in. "Where's my Cannons duvet [comforter]?" He wondered, just as Jakob came toddling in wearing a shockingly orange hoodie with the Cannons emblem on it. "Oh," Ron realized. Then his eyes went wide. "She even threw out my comic books!" He gasped. "The woman's gone totally mental!"

"Where IS that child?!" Molly was shouting from below.

"She wants to make me dwink poison!" Jakob nodded seriously, sounding even worse. "It makes my head smoke!" Jakob hid in Ron's cupboard.

"Pepper-Up," Harry smiled. "It's all right, Jake, it'll help you get better!"

"No!" came the muffled reply. "And she put a thewmo-meeter in my b-…"

Ron collapsed in laughter as Ginny came in with a bottle and spoon. Harry pointed at the cupboard.

"Have you seen Jakob? He has to take his medicine before his nose falls off," Ginny said loudly.

"Will not!" the cupboard protested, as Ginny hauled him out and convinced him to take it. Steam rolled out of his nose and ears, and Jakob shivered.

"Bed, now," Ginny ordered him. "Ronald, have you seen my pink trainers?"

"In my woom," Jakob sneezed again.

"Honestly?!" Ron grinned. "She made you wear Ginny's shoes?"

"With that hoodie?" Hermione looked shocked.

Then they heard a door slam.

"MOLLY!" Arthur's voice shouted.

"Daddy's home!" Ginny observed.

"This isn't going to be pretty," Ron mumbled.

"I gots go back to bed now," Jakob declared.

Before anyone could say a word, Arthur threw down a copy of the Quibbler on the kitchen table.

"Can someone explain this to me?" He asked of his family. "You can't believe the nightmare I've had at work today! And of course, Percy's been conveniently busy all day long!" He looked around. "Where's the boy?"

"His name is Jakob, Dad," Ginny reminded him.

"I KNOW HIS NAME!" Arthur waved the magazine over his head. "The whole bloody world knows his name now!" His gesticulations almost knocked the tray from Molly's hands as she came by. "Wha's all this?"

"Chicken soup, hot cider, and more Pepper-Up," Molly explained. "'The boy' is deathly ill!" She then fled up the stairs.

"Well maybe if he hadn't wandered off to chat with old Lovegood, he'd not be ill – and we'd not be the gossip stock of the Isles!" Arthur ranted. "Do you KNOW how this MAKES us LOOK!?"

"Like an arse?" Ron popped off, which silenced the room.

Arthur glared at him. Then his face went blank. He sat down. Ginny got him some tea, and a pint of Firewhiskey, just in case.

"I DON' HAS A TEM'PER'TUR!" Jakob screamed from above.

"What did you just say, Ronald?" Arthur demanded, but he did take the drinks.

"I just called you an arse, Dad, because you're being one," Ron explained. "Now I guess you know how Harry felt when the Prophet was after him, called him 'The Boy Who Lies', remember that? No one wanted to believe him either!"

Harry picked up the magazine. "Is this publication a lie, sir? Because I've never known Xeno to print lies. Fantasies, maybe, but lies? Never!" Harry then stated, picking up the magazine. "You know," he sighed, "Bellatrix LeStrange once gave me some very good advice," which got everyone to gape at Harry. "She said that to use an Unforgivable Curse, you really have to mean it. The night Sirius Black came back, in the Shrieking Shack, when I was thirteen, I wanted to kill him. And I would have. I could have! And forgive me, but I was looking forward to seeing a Dementor suck out Peter Pettigrew's soul!" His friends all stepped back as if Harry had become too hot. "And I hated Professor Snape! I so wanted to see him go down! And you know what? In the end, I did," Harry shook his head. "I got my bloody wish – he was dead. Died staring into my eyes! And now I'd give almost anything to have him back, to hear him talk about Mum, even to hear him berate me because I'm my father's son, and maybe…" Harry thought, "Because I wasn't his. But I'd gladly take that chance on him hating me now, if he were just still here!" He shoved the magazine at Arthur. "And I WILL NOT SIT IDLY BY WHILE YOU DO THE SAME THING TO JAKOB THAT SNAPE DID TO ME!" Harry shouted at him. Then he turned away, taking a step towards the sitting room where the Floo was offline because of all the calls about Jakob. "And I'd forgive him," Harry nodded slowly. "I…I didn't go through all this shite to make people hate children like Jakob. This…this wasn't how it was supposed to turn out. That's why I…I didn't want to see Madame Malfoy go to Azkaban. I didn't want to hurt Andromeda, and T-Teddy deserves to know his remaining family."

Ginny went to him, and at first, Harry made to shrug her off. Then he let her lead him to a loveseat near the undecorated Christmas tree.

"Look, I've had to deal with this all day long! I couldn't even call home, the Floo was so clogged with people calling about Jakob!" Arthur protested. "And you lot have the nerve to…," he paused, taking a drink. Then he put his head in his hands. "I just don't think we can do it," He gave up. "Maybe I am being an arse about it."

"Apparently, Mum can do it," Ron spoke up. "She came to meet us on the platform, and even made nice with Andromeda – after someone asked her to leave for trying to talk some sense into him?"

Arthur blushed.

"I think Mum's a hell of a lot stronger than you give her credit for, Dad," Ron added. "Tell me Dad – tell me what that little boy up there ever did to you?"

Hermione, who had been silent the whole time, sat down next to Arthur. "I think Mrs. Tonks knows how you feel," she offered. "Even Neville does. Something he said on the train," she clarified.

"Remus," Arthur nodded slowly. "But kids, how can I raise the boy when every time I look at him, I see the man who killed my friend? When I see the man who tore my wife's family apart?"

"Why don't you try looking for the boy who can bring it back together again, then?" Hermione asked, just as an owl began pecking at the window.

Ron let him in, and the bird had a copy of the much smaller Evening Prophet Weekend. "You did it, Harry," Ron called to them, "The Wizengamot let the Malfoys off with a slap on the wrist and a humongous fine!" He scanned the paper further. "Ah! Seems that dear old Draco has been upgraded to stable condition. Merlin, I hope they don't make him make up his Seventh Year with us!"

Hermione got up and punched his arm, hard.

"OWWW! Would you stop beatin' on me, you lunatic?" Ron protested.

"Don't tell me you have no sympathy for even Malfoy, with what they did to him?" Hermione fired back at him, "How is he that much different from Jakob now, other than the fact that he can be relieved that he still has parents to go home to? That he still has a home? How many other Slytherin children don't? This news might be why he recovered."

"You're defending him?" Ron gasped. Arthur looked confused.

"He knew who we were when we were caught and hauled in to Malfoy Manor!" Hermione reminded him. "And he lied to them! And during the Battle, when we left him, he could have brought even more Death Eaters after us – and he didn't!"

"What is all this shouting again?" Molly asked, as she came down the stairs. "Would you try to keep it down?"

Just then, another owl arrived. They recognized it as Percy's, and it had a small pouch tied to one leg.

It was filled with coins and a letter from Felicia Thimblebrass.

"It's our thirty pieces of silver, looks like," Arthur sighed, as Molly sat down by him.

Ron and Hermione left the kitchen.

"Arthur," She whispered, "I don't know what to do, honestly, but I cannot turn my back on a sick child."

"But it's just a cold?" Arthur wondered.

Molly shook her head.

"Jakob's got a temperature, and he's starting to wheeze."

Notes:

*Think Dory from "Finding Nemo" and "I wish I could speak 'whale'."


	8. Chapter 8-Jakob's Gift

**8**

**Jakob's Gift**

A sick child was nothing new to the Burrow. After seven children, Molly Weasley was well versed in healing spells, potions, and was just as competent a nurse as anyone on Madame Pomfrey's staff.

Jakob, however, proved to _not_ be a typical sick child.

"Dunno, never been sick before," He informed Molly that next morning, having developed a wet, hacking cough that was bringing up frightening amounts of obnoxiously colored mucous. He complained that he was hot, yet he shivered under his blankets. His temperature continued to climb, and when it hit 105F [40.6C], Molly began to worry that the fever wasn't going to break. Much higher, and the boy risked going into convulsions. He didn't want to eat, and began losing weight. His breathing became more labored, and he whimpered and squirmed constantly.

Through it all, Molly never left his bedside. She held his hand, read to him, and even sent Arthur out to get a smaller WWN radio for his room. She rocked him when he couldn't sleep, did everything that her experience as a mother had taught her, but nothing seemed to help as Jakob grew worse.

Harry and Hermione, having grown up in the Muggle world, Apparated with Arthur to procure Muggle items such as a vaporizer, mentholated cream to rub on the boy's chest and throat, and various Muggle drugs such as guaifenesin, albuterol, and acetaminophen when it seemed like magical remedies weren't going to have any effect. In a few more days, it was full-blown pneumonia, and Arthur summoned Madame Iris Pomfrey from St. Mungo's, medical bills be damned.

"I don't want to move him," she informed them all, having set up a few Muggle treatments of her own, such as an oxygen line and an IV after having broken the fever with an ice bath. "Those Muggle drugs are, I hate to admit it, probably what turned the trick. It's odd that he _didn't_ respond to the usual potions for respiratory distress, though? It seems they only made things worse?"

"He's a very strange child," Arthur had to admit. "I mean, it's not unusual to see a burst of childhood magic, like with fixing the car tire, but to do it four times in a row, intentionally?"

"And what eight year old has never been sick before?" Molly asked.

"Hard to say, but you said he doesn't remember much?" Madame Pomfrey replied. "You said that his memories, other than snow, seem to begin with seeing the battle? He's probably been ill before; he just doesn't remember it."

"Is he _going _to be all right?" Arthur asked pointedly.

"The good news is, is that it's bacterial pneumonia, so he should respond well to the Muggle antibiotics," Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Keep him on that, and the nebulizer, and try to get him to eat, and he'll be fine. Once he starts taking food regularly, we can discontinue the IV and oxygen. Just make sure he takes plenty of fluids."

Children are resilient, though, and a week later (with only five to days to Christmas Eve), Jakob was back on his feet. He wasn't allowed to go outside, however, and he spent most of his time near the fireplace. He was happy to get back to his schoolwork, complaining that he'd been bored out of his mind. "Did anyone water the Christmas tree?" He asked that first day, seeing that it was looking rather droopy. Jakob tended to that, but it seemed to wear him out.

"Are we going to trim it, or not?" Ron asked, "We're only about three weeks late, you know!"

"Is it too big?" Jakob wondered.

"No," Molly assured him, "Trimming it means we put decorations on it."

"Can we do it tomorrow?" Jakob yawned.

And although he still didn't feel so good, he did notice that things seemed to be getting back to the way they were.

Jakob liked that.

And so on December 20th, The Mother Night and Odinist Festival of Midwinter, Jakob got to experience his first tree trimming. He was fascinated by all the handmade old decorations, and was thrilled as the adults took turns levitating him up so that he could hang ornaments on the top of the tree. Many of them glowed with their own magical light, and Jakob was enthralled. Then Arthur brought out a kit for making new ones. It involved clay, water, forming and baking the sculptures, and made quite the mess. Jakob was delighted. Molly fled to the sitting room to knit with Hermione and Ginny while the men wrecked her kitchen.

"This almost makes me feel like a little kid again! You know, they say that dreams on this night foretell the future," Ron pointed out.

"Sounds just as woolly as Divination, to me," Hermione scoffed, as they all took a break for hot cocoa and biscuits. "Although tomorrow is the Winter Solstice."

"Wha's that?" Jakob asked, as the oven did double duty in baking biscuits and new ornaments. He held up one of his creations, a perfect replica of his toy dragon. The toy Horntail was _not _impressed at all.

"How'd he _do_ that?" Harry had to ask, passing the boy a small paint set to colour it with.

"The longest night of the year, and the celebration of the return of many various sun gods," Hermione explained, while Ron rolled his eyes. "Many believe it to be very mystical, especially in the Magical World."

"I dreamed about Essie _last_ night," Jakob nodded.

"Abe's goat?" Ron exclaimed. "That's odd?"

"I like him," Jakob nodded again.

As they continued to eat biscuits and make new ornaments, Molly brought out a large box of cards and envelopes.

"I think we can ship these off by Floo, as the calls have pretty much stopped," she pointed out. "The poor owl will never be able to keep up, not this late in the season!"

Ron and Arthur both groaned. Jakob didn't know what Christmas cards were, but after signing his name to about a hundred of them, he decided that they weren't that much fun as he sat rubbing his wrist. It _was_ fun, though, to throw them into the green flames of the Floo and then yell at it where to send them to. He was especially pleased to send one to Mr. Lovegood, and delighted to see Luna pay a visit just before bedtime.

"Father hasn't stopped talking about him," Luna told them, seeming more dreamy and detached than ever. She looked all around the Burrow, her eyes wide. "Oh, this is all just so magical!" She sighed, taking a biscuit from Jakob. "You know, we've been flooded with letters of people offering Jakob a home," she came right out and said it, which brought everything to a stop. Of course, Luna had no idea how she'd sounded. "Everyone wants him now, thanks to the article. Father even thinks that Percy might be able to place most of the shelter children before Christmas, now! Isn't it lovely?"

The clock ticked.

Molly and Arthur shared a long, hard look. Each knew what the other was remembering:

_No, Charlie, you charm the clay like this!_

_DO NOT! You jus' wanna hog it all!_

_That's too much water!_

_Shut up, Percy!_

_Mummy! Ronnie's eating the ornaments!_

_Buh dat a bik'sit?_

_Baby Ginny apparently thought the clay was for a facial._

"I don't think that'll be necessary, in this case, Luna," Arthur informed her, looking long and hard at Jakob, who was now busy painting his Dirigible Plum ornaments in all colors.

"_Daddy!"_

"_It goes, it goes!"_

"_What's Christmas?"_

And finally – _"He'll be stripped of his magic and placed with a Muggle family."_

He then looked at Molly. "We're keeping him," he said softly, nodding.

The rest of them shared looks of approval, as if not surprised at all.

"Isn't _that _wonderful, Jakob?" Luna asked him.

"Huh?" Jakob asked, looking up from his painting. He handed Luna a yellow plum ornament. "For you!"

"Oh, it's lovely!" She kissed his cheek. "Thank you!"

Just then, the Floo lit up. Harry went to answer it, and it turned out to be Miss Felicia Thimblebrass. She was dressed in lavender robes, carrying a briefcase, and looked to be all business.

"Well, _this_ is unexpected," she observed of all the festivities, as Jakob ran to her and hugged her, leading her into the kitchen for cocoa and biscuits, and anxious to show off their creations. "I hear someone's been ill?"

And so Jakob told her all about it. When he was done, however, Felicia looked skeptical. She took Molly and Arthur aside.

"I've seen this before," she informed them, "And I have to ask, are you still going to feel this way about him when Christmas is over?" She asked bluntly. "After the incident of finding out who his real parents are, and the article in **The Quibbler**, to say nothing of his wandering off and getting sick…well, I have to say, things _don't_ look all that good for you right now."

"Miss Thimblebrass," Arthur interrupted her. "This _hasn't_ been an easy decision. But believe me when I say, after the past few weeks, things have changed here."

"You _really _think you can do this?" Felicia persisted, "Despite what people might think? Despite what his family did to yours?" She paused, "And despite what Percy has reported that you've put this boy through already? A week ago, I had to _pay _you to keep him!"

"The child did nothing to us," Molly retorted, "Except remind of us of our _own _shortcomings," she added, "It just took us a while to see that."

"Please, don't take him away from us," Arthur bowed his head. "We…I was wrong. I see that now."

"I warned you that this one was quite special," Felicia reminded them, "Percy and I were wondering just how far we were going to have to go!"

They both gasped and stared at her.

And she finally smiled.

"I'll let you get on about your evening," she then took her leave.

On her way to the Floo, Jakob stopped her for one last hug. He then offered her the toy dragon. "Can you wrap him up and give him to Cam?" He asked. "Cam needs a friend!" He then whispered, handing her a purple plum ornament. "A bit longer, _pleeeeease_?"

"Of course I will, thank you, Jakob, and yes!" She kissed his cheek, took the toy dragon, and then turned to vanish into the green flames.

It was much later when Ginny unpacked the final ornament – an angel to place at the top of the tree. She was dressed all in white, and a wave of Molly's wand gave her a warm glow. She placed the angel in Jakob's small hands.

"_My_ mummy and I made that when I was a little girl," Molly informed him.

Jakob smiled. The angel then flapped her wings, and flew to her usual position atop the tree, smiling down upon them all.

"Are we done now?" Jakob asked, looking all around at the transformed Burrow.

"Kid, you haven't seen the half of it!" Ron assured him.

"Just make sure to pay special attention to your dreams tonight," Luna reminded Jakob, as she, too, took her leave, and her yellow plum ornament, and Floo'd home.

"What was Miss Thimblebrass saying to you?" Jakob asked, as Molly tucked the yawning boy, who could hardly keep his eyes open, into bed.

"She…she wasn't too happy with us, for the way we treated you," Arthur admitted.

"You weren't bad to me," Jakob disagreed, "You were just sad is all. I'm sorry my daddy was a bad man."

The Weasleys exchanged another long look. Arthur nodded to Molly.

"Jakob, we'd like to keep you, if … if you'll have us?" Molly whispered, smoothing his hair and nodding as she sniffled.

"You _really_ want to be my new mum and dad?" Jakob's eyes widened. "You want me to _stay_?!"

"It doesn't matter what your _dad_ did," Arthur assured him, "_He_ did it – not you!"

Jakob threw his blankets back and flung himself at the surprised couple, sobbing as they both made to catch him up in a hug.

"I love you, Mummy, Daddy!" He cried, but these were now tears of pure joy.

And so it was, on that Mother Night, that Jakob Dolohov fell asleep, contented as only a lost child who had finally come home could be.

Downstairs, no one was still up to see the hand of the clock that bore Jakob's picture moving to "home".

In the dream, he was dashing through a solid brick wall at a bit of a run, pushing a trolley with a steamer trunk labeled "JFW", a few smaller bags, and a snowy white owl in a gilded cage. Before him stood a magnificent scarlet steam engine, and the platform was mobbed with children and parents saying farewell through the clouds of smoke and steam. "ALL ABOARD!" The conductor was yelling.

Jakob's parents were kissing him goodbye, but as he boarded the Hogwarts Express, he turned to see that they were people he didn't know.

Molly and Arthur Weasley weren't there.

Jakob blinked.

The strangers were gone, and in their place stood a pair of new strangers, waving to him and smiling. His mum was crying, and although Jakob didn't know her, she seemed somehow familiar. He _knew _that she was "Mum".

"But Mummy, what if I _am _put in Slytherin?" Jakob called back to them, as the doors began sliding closed all along the train.

"It doesn't matter _which _House you make," Molly Weasley called up to him. "We'll _always_ be proud of you!"

"Oy! Watch it now!" An older boy called, grabbing Jakob's shoulder and pulling him in as the door slid shut. "Almost lost your nose, there!"

Jakob turned to see Cameron Avery, so much taller, and looking splendid in his green and silver trimmed robes. A shining Prefect's badge glittered on his left breast, just above the embroidered emblem of a serpent. "Wondered if you were going to make it, Jake! Can you find a cabin? I have to go to a meeting with the other Prefects, you see!"

Jakob nodded. He was near the back of the train as the conductor in a blue suit called out "Tickets, tickets!" greeting each student happily as his blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. His long white beard was tucked neatly into his shirt.

"Are you ready, Jakob?" The old man asked him, his eyes twinkling as if he weren't telling the boy all of it.

"I'll…I'll miss them, sir," Jakob admitted. "Do I _have _to go?"

The old man looked melancholy. "No, you _don't _have to go, my boy," he replied, "But think of all the others, if you _don't_."

"The others, on the platform, what sent me off? I didn't know _them_, sir?" Jakob asked.

"But you _will_," the old man nodded, leading the boy to a cabin where three other children were just introducing themselves.

"If I don't go, those parents will _never_ come to Kings Cross, will they?" Jakob asked.

"No, they will _not_," the conductor confirmed. "The choice is yours, my boy." He slid the door open, and then he was gone.

"Are we going to be enemies, then?" A small white-blond boy was asking, and a boy with messy black hair and glasses was shaking his head and laughing. The ginger bushy-haired girl seated with them was musing about how it would all just drive their parents absolutely wild! "Dad said to beat you at everything!" She laughed at the first boy, who smiled back.

"Do you mind?" Jakob asked. "Everywhere else is full up?"

"Not at all!" The blond boy replied.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" A young witch in a lavender robe asked them.

Ron had been true to his word when he'd told Jakob that he hadn't seen the half of it. On his first trip out since his illness, Jakob went Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley with Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. Hermione would be leaving to spend Christmas Eve with her parents, but she promised to return to the Burrow on Christmas morning to see them all again. Jakob found himself to be somewhat of a celebrity, almost as much as Harry was, as people he didn't even know spoke words of congratulations to him.

After an exciting ride at Gringotts, their first stop was Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which was packed. George distracted the boy while the others secretly picked out gifts for him.

"Wouldn't it be cool," Jakob mused, after telling George all about his first tree trimming, "If you could put all the decorations all in one magical box, that would shoot them all out and up the tree? I got quite nauseous, being levitated, you know!"

"You mean like a Christmas _bomb_?" George laughed, "A Christmas box? Jar? Crock? No, wait!" His eyes went wide and he snapped his fingers. "Christmas in a can! CANNED CHRISTMAS!" He then declared, tousling the boy's hair, which no one had ever thought to get cut. "Jakob, you're a _genius_!"

And so the next few days were filled with more covert shopping, wrapping of gifts, trying to hide said gifts from whom they were for, and receiving cards either by owl post or Floo. In fact, sitting in front of the fireplace had become a bit dangerous, as you could get whacked in the head with a flying card if you weren't careful! The kitchen at the Burrow was a flurry of cooking, as holiday well-wishers came and went. The preparations seemed never ending, and Jakob was quite taken by it all.

"But what about the other kids at the shelter?" Jakob asked, on Christmas Eve morning, taking in the sight of the tree, the piles of presents, and the wonderful smells of so many different foods.

"Don't worry about them, Jake," Harry assured him. "Miss Thimblebrass, Andromeda, and Kreacher have that all under control."

"I hope Cam likes his dragon," Jakob nodded. "I miss him."

"I'm sure he'll _love_ it," Arthur assured him, looking at his finger and shaking his head. "And good riddance!" He whispered to Harry.

Later that evening, Jakob was surprised to see so many people arriving for the much-anticipated party. Bill and Fleur arrived from France. Charlie, who was happy to talk about dragons with Jakob, arrived alone – much to his mother's chagrin. George and Angelina came with many more presents, all wrapped in pink and yellow paper. Percy arrived with Audrey, whom Jakob had never met. Harry, Ron and Ginny were there, of course, and even Hagrid came with his dog, Fang, to report that no students were staying at Hogwarts this Christmas. Jakob was a bit frightened by Professor Minerva McGonagall, who arrived with Mrs. Tonks and Teddy, but that made her all right in his book. Even the portly Professor Slughorn was mightily impressed with Jakob, and deemed him a worthy future Slug Club member.

Jakob was most impressed with Kreacher, though, who praised him (when no one was listening) for "protecting the Heir."

After an impressive meal, where everyone ate more than was probably good for them, it was time to unwrap presents. Most of these were directed to Jakob and Teddy, and the adults seemed to be more interested in watching them than they were in their own gifts. Teddy was more interested in chewing on the wrapping paper, and crawling inside the empty boxes, however.

As a model of the Hogwarts Express ran around the base of the tree on a circular track, puffing smoke and whistling now and again, Jakob continued to open his seemingly unending supply of gifts. He was delighted with his rainbow colored jumper, which bore a shining "J" in silver metallic yarn on the front. He put it on at once, discarding his orange hoodie in favor of it.

"Maybe I'll get my Cannons duvet back now," Ron mused.

Jakob's favorite present, by far, was a small sled from Percy, complete with a Cushioning Charm in case of a crash.

"Now if it would just _snow_!" The boy declared, looking around at all the faces smiling back at him.

"I was going to wait until tomorrow," Percy then spoke up, handing Jakob an envelope that reminded him of the one he'd found that fateful night on the kitchen table, "But I think we'd best not wait!"

Jakob took the envelope from him, staring at it for a moment. He looked up at Arthur and Molly, who nodded to him. Jakob tore it open to find only one paper in it, and it was full of small print – words that didn't make a whole lot of sense to him. Things decreed by so-and-so in the matter of the foundling child, and some different dates, child identified as 'Jakob Lukas Dolohov'…blah blah blah…

But at the bottom, Jakob read:

…**shall hereby be known from this day forward as:**

**Jakob Frederick "Jack" Weasley**

"Am I a real Weasley now, then?" Jakob asked of Molly and Arthur.

Molly could only nod as Arthur lifted the boy up to them to hold him as Jakob cried.

"So _this_ is Christmas?" Jakob finally managed, and his parents could only nod in reply.

Then the clock struck eleven.

The hand bearing Jakob's image still pointed to "home".

"Look out the window," George called out to them all, firing a ball of light from his wand that flew out the window to light up the entire lawn of the Burrow, hovering like a small sun above the trees.

"SNOW!" Jakob screamed, springing from his parents' embrace to run to the window to stare in wonder. "This is the best present _ever_!"

"Did you do that?" Andromeda whispered to Minerva.

But Professor McGonagall just shook her head. "There are some things that even magic cannot explain," she wondered, as the snow continued to fall, blanketing the Burrow in a coating of white.

"Best alert Madame Pomfrey," Harry announced, as Jakob grabbed up his sled and bolted for the door.

"HAT AND COAT AND BOOTS!" Molly shouted at him, and Jakob stopped. "You'll be too ill in the morning to open the rest of your gifts!"

"You mean there's MORE!?" Jakob exclaimed, his face a study in wonder. "But how will I _ever_ get to sleep tonight, then?!"

Everyone laughed.

It was nearly midnight when Jakob got his answer. He was so tired from all the excitement that he had to be carried back inside by Hagrid after giving his sled a thorough breaking-in under George's light. He reluctantly left his beloved sled just inside the kitchen door. Guests were taking their leave, but Jakob hardly noticed this as he was carried upstairs to a hot bath, then put to bed. As he clutched Mr. Stuffings to his side, the last thing he remembered before drifting off was his mother kissing his forehead and saying, "I love you, Jakob Weasley," as his father turned down the light.

"Jakob? Jakob, wake up," someone was saying, and the boy felt a gentle shake to his shoulder.

He opened his eyes to see his room shining in warm golden light that seemed to come from everywhere, and yet nowhere at the same time.

"Is it time _already_?" Jakob whispered, hoping to not awaken anyone else.

"I'm afraid so, my boy," the old man in the blue robe answered, his long white beard seeming to move in a nonexistent breeze.

Jakob sat up and looked out his widow for a long while, watching the gently falling snow.

Then the snow stopped.

He nodded and got out of bed.

"What awful pyjamas! I rather like it!" The old man commented, taking the boy's hand.

Jakob paused to tuck Mr. Stuffings back in, then kissed the old bear's nose. One single tear ran down the boy's cheek, vanishing into the bear's plush muzzle.

"I think he's still got a few years left in him," the old man nodded. "You won't be the last child to love him."

"I won't be the last child _they_ love, either," Jakob sniffled. "Will I, sir?"

The old man shook his head. "No, Jakob. This house will have many more children pass through its doors, each with his or her own special needs, that can only be met _here_."

"They'll miss me," Jakob shook his head. "I don't _want _them to be sad anymore!" He cried.

"They'll only be sad for a very _short_ while, Jakob," the old man assured him, "For they have much more happiness yet to come." He paused to look around the room, at the piles of gifts.

"I should write a thank-you letter," Jakob then decided, and the old man produced a parchment and quill from his pocket, allowing the boy time to do that in his hard-to-read little boy printing. Then he got his crayons out and made a card in which to enclose it.

A snowy owl came to tap at the window, and Jakob gave her the card and letter. The old man smiled.

Then he took Jacob's hand again.

The boy looked up at him with trusting eyes.

Outside the window of the dark and empty room, now inhabited by only a solitary old teddy bear, stars sparkled upon the new fallen snow.

Arthur didn't know what had awakened him. As he sat up in bed, he looked around the room, blinking. It was dark, of course, and he didn't even have a headache. That in itself, given the boisterous Christmas Eve party, made no sense to him. He checked the clock, which read "five-eleven," and decided to just stay up. In fact, he wondered if he might be the very first one up! Feeling a bit childish himself, he carefully made his way to Jakob's room to see if he could rouse the boy.

"Jakob?" He called softly, noting the soft snores coming from Ron's room.

He pushed the door open and turned on the light.

"NO!" Arthur gasped, staring around the cold, empty room in shock.

The furniture was still there, of course, but all the gifts were gone. The only inhabitant of the bed, he saw as he stumbled in, was Mr. Stuffings. The old bear was tucked in under the scarlet and gold duvet. Arthur yanked it back, and the bed was cool to the touch.

Mr. Stuffings didn't move.

Arthur looked in the closet and bureau, both of which were empty. Other than Ron's old bear, the room looked to be exactly as Percy had left it, just as it had before Jakob had come.

He pulled his wand, but spell after spell told him nothing.

He closed the door, looked in again, but the room was still empty.

"Molly," he shook her awake, upon returning to their room. "Molly?"

"Oh, can't you wait a _bit_, boys?" Molly grumbled, rolling back over.

"Molly, _wake_ up! It's Jakob!" Arthur insisted.

Molly sat upright at once, instantly awake.

"What…what is it, dear?" She breathed, noting the look on her husband's face that she'd seen only once before.

Her face paled at the sight of it.

"Jakob's gone!" Arthur cried, sitting down on the bed and taking her hands in his.

"Gone? What do you _mean_ he's GONE?!" Molly shouted, which aroused the rest of the Burrow at once.

"The room's empty," Arthur shook his head. "It's _all_ gone. I…I woke up first, I wanted to be the one to…to see his face…when he…HE'S GONE, MOLLY! The bloody room's just as empty as when Percy left it! It's like Jakob was _never_ even there!" He cried.

Molly was out of bed in a flash, grabbing up her wand. In a second, she magically switched into being dressed, dragging Arthur down the hall with her where they bumped into the others.

"Wha's wrong?" a bleary Ron wondered, as they followed them to Jakob's room.

"Mum?" Ginny begged, taking in the look on her face, "What is it?"

The room was empty.

"Jakob?" Molly breathed, unable to believe what she was seeing.

The room looked exactly as it had before she'd cleaned it.

"But…where _is_ he?" Harry wondered, moving to take her arm. "There's the bear?"

Molly went to the unused bed, cool to the touch, where Mr. Stuffings lay. She clutched the bear to her breast, shaking her head. "We have to find him!" She then declared in a broken voice, and the Weasleys plus Harry scattered to action.

In minutes, magic was flying all about the Burrow and surrounding grounds. But spell after spell revealed nothing.

As they all made for the front door, they stopped.

Jakob's sled was gone.

There was no wind. It was no longer snowing.

Harry bent down to examine the unbroken snow. Then he looked up and saw it: there was a wide track, perhaps left by the sled, which went on down the hill for a ways…and vanished. There was no sled to be seen at the base of the hill.

There were no footprints in the snow.

From inside, Ginny screamed.

They found her in the kitchen, standing with a few Christmas cards in her hands and pointing at Jakob's last drawing on the icebox door.

But instead of a Christmas tree made of many green handprints, the paper was blank.

"The…the cards! Read the cards!" Ginny exclaimed, which were all signed "To: Arthur, Molly, Ron & Ginny." None mentioned Jakob.

"MUM!" Ron called from the sitting room, where he was pointing at the Christmas tree, where amongst the presents, sat an empty watering can. "The new ornaments? The dragon? The plums? They're _all_ gone!" Ron exclaimed, bending down to examine the gifts. "And not a one of these is to Jakob! Even the toy broomstick's gone!"

At the top of the Christmas tree, the hands of Molly's angel covered her face, her head bowed as if weeping.

"Look at the _portraits_?!" Harry then pointed to the mantelpiece.

On the end of the row of pictures of the Weasley children plus Harry and Teddy, there sat a frame with no picture.

Molly summoned it, tearing the brown craft paper from the back. She tore out the backing, and dropped the glass. It shattered on the floor as she held out a white 8x10" blank photo.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?!" Molly screamed, just as there came a tapping at the window.

Harry gasped, his eyes wide, as he let in a familiar snowy owl. The bird dropped a Christmas card, nipped his ear once, and then vanished back into the white landscape.

Harry stared after it, unable to believe what he'd seen.

"Hedwig?!" He cried after her.

But the owl was gone.

Molly tore open the envelope, and the card was of an evergreen tree in the snow, undecorated.

"The letter! Read the _letter_, Mum!" Ginny gasped.

Molly sat down in her chair, glancing up to see the dusty little desk in the corner where Jakob had sat to do his schoolwork and draw his pictures. There were two short stacks of blank parchment there, and a full inkbottle. But all the papers in the 'done' folder were blank when Arthur checked them.

With trembling hands, she opened the letter, addressed so:

To: The Weasley Family

_**The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole**_

_**Christmas Morning**_

And choking back sobs, yet somehow smiling at the same time, she read it aloud:

_Dear Molly and Arthur:_

_By the time the owl brings this letter, I'll be gone._

_I'm sorry that it has to be this way, but don't worry about me. Somewhere out there is another Mummy and Daddy who need me, and I have to go and find them. Please don't come looking for me, I know you want to, but that would spoil it all for them. Besides, I don't think you'd be able to find me anyway. I don't think it works like that, and I know you wouldn't want someone else to miss out on what we've had these past few months._

I'm sorry I won't be there for you to take me to Platform 9 ¾ to send me off to Hogwarts, but maybe someday, I'll get there somehow. It might be next year, it might be last year. I know I will; I dreamed it on that special night. I might already be there, in fact. It might even be before you and Arthur go yourselves.

_I don't know how they do that, honestly. But I don't think time means anything to someone who hurts so badly._

_I must go where I am needed. You see, that is what I do._

_I know you wanted to see a Hogwarts owl coming with a letter telling you that I made Gryffindor, or like you said, any of the other Houses – even Slytherin. You don't realize it yet, but that one honest feeling will change the world someday._

_I know you won't know who I'm talking about, and I can't say any more about that, but Albus will _need_ you to remember that. Tell him, just like you told me. And when he cries, wipe away his tears like you did mine._

_Maybe that's why I came to you first, when I didn't _know_ anything._

_Maybe they thought you would be the best teachers I could have._

_I think you were._

I dunno why bad things happen to good people like you. I don't know why you had to go through so much: losing Fabian and Gideon, losing Fred in the Final Battle, worrying about Harry and Ron and the lot of them in that awful year on the run, scared to death over Ginny, and losing so many friends along the way.

_But like you showed me, in time, you have to let go of those terrible things that hurt you. That much you taught me, when I started to realize who I was and what I would have become if I hadn't found you._

_You see, Mummy, Daddy, I didn't know when I came to you _who_ I was. I only knew I was drawn to you, because some things _have_ to happen. Sometimes, there are things that have to happen that _can't_ happen, because something got in their way._

_There are kids without parents now, and parents without kids. There are kids who won't even be _born_ now, because of the War. And there were kids left so wounded inside by all that happened, that they forgot how to love – like some part of them was ripped out and blown away on the wind._

_I think that's _worse_ than never even being born – living without loving._

_But you showed me that…again. Even when you reluctantly took in a strange child who was not your own. You showed me love. You showed me who I was._

_I heard you asking the lady at the shelter who I was, and she didn't rightly know, remember? No, you're not nutters._

_To some of _them_, I never even existed._

_But _now_ I know who I am, and I know what I was sent here to do._

I am the patiently waiting Soul of the child who will never be born.

I am those broken bits of those who now might find someone to love them again.

I am the spirit of all those children who died.

_I am the orphan child's cries in the night, or the mother's tears at dawn when she buries her child._

_I am the grief that a father keeps inside, because _he_ has to be the strong one._

_I hope I am the last of them._

_Most of all, though, I am the hopes and dreams for tomorrow's children._

_So long as there are people like you and Daddy around, I know that someday, I will become what you have already had so much of – what so many out there wish for._

Perhaps I will even be the miracle for those who now cannot.

_It's not easy to leave, I so very much want to stay, but if I don't go, there might be another child out there, somewhere, who will _never_ come to exist._

_There will be mummies and daddies who'll _never_ get to go to Platform 9 ¾._

_But thanks to you, Jakob Lukas Dolohov got to exist _after_ all, even if only for one brief season._

Again, please don't try to find me. I don't know where I'm going, but I know it'll be a good place, maybe even as good as The Burrow.

_But keep watching, and you might see me somewhere, sometimes._

I might be the excited child being chosen by his wand the first time in Ollivander's. Or I might be the child who's just happy to be going off to school in his secondhand Gladrags robes. I'll probably be the child who's thrilled to have a bag full of Every-Flavor Beans, even if most of them are spinach, liver, and tripe – or even a bogey flavored one! I might be the seemingly spoiled child, you know, the one you never see crying because he already has it all.

_I might even be the child you don't really notice in the aisle of the Hogwarts Express, you know, that one with the grin that just tells you he's about to get into trouble?_

_I will miss you._

_Thank you for taking care of me when I was sick._

_Thank you for Christmas._

_Thank you for loving me._

_Always remember that _I_ love you._

_Goodbye, for now…_

'_Jack'_

_PS – Fred sends his love_

When she put the letter down, Molly wept.

Arthur knelt beside her, a hand over his face, trembling.

"H-he…he's gone," Molly finally managed, handing the letter off to Ginny to read again.

There was a knock at the door.

The clock struck six.

They all looked at it to see only six hands again, all of them reading "home".

The hand for Jakob was gone.

"Happy Christmas!" Hermione called from the doorway, levitating a large red sack and looking like some younger and perhaps skinnier Mrs. Santa Claus. Then she saw their faces.

"What's wrong?" She gasped, running to Ron's side, where Ginny showed her the letter.

"Jakob's gone!" Ginny cried.

"_Who_?" Hermione wondered.

They all stared at her.

"Jakob?" Ron reminded her, taking her arm. "Are you _mad_? The little boy that Mum and Dad adopted? Shaggy hair, few freckles, 'bout so tall? Eight or nine?" He held his other hand out. "Got sick, almost died? From the shelter?"

Hermione shook her head blankly.

"The _Death Eater_ kid?" Ron flat out said it. "Jakob Lukas **Dolohov**? War orphan?"

Hermione looked at all the tear-stained faces around her, and for the life of her, she had no idea what they were all on about.

"Ronald," She informed him, confused, "_Antonin_ Dolohov was arrested in 1981, after the murder of Harry's parents and the fall of Voldemort. He was in Azkaban Prison until 1996, escaping in the mass breakout with Bellatrix LeStrange and the lot! If Antonin Dolohov had a child, he could only be about two years old, at the _very _most, now? Don't you remember it from your Auror classes, Harry?" She turned to him.

Harry's face changed in realization. "She's right!" He agreed. "Dolohov _couldn't _have had a child that old!"

"But you were _here_!" Ginny cut in. "How can you _not_ remember him, Hermione? You took him shopping with all of us!"

"She _wasn't_ **here,"** Ron then reasoned, pointing at the floor, as his parents looked on, "She left _before _Christmas Eve. She wasn't _here_ – in this house – when Jakob…left…this morning. Only the people in the Burrow remember him," Ron nodded sadly.

"Children don't just vanish into thin air!" Arthur protested. "Are you saying he was some kind of …of _ghost_?"

"Ghosts don't get sick, or eat like he did," Molly disagreed, taking back the letter and clutching it to her breast, before handing it off to Hermione.

Hermione made to read it, but the letter was blank.

"But it's just there, in all that kid-print?" Harry stabbed at the letter with his finger. "Hedwig brought it!"

Hermione gave him a long look.

"She can't see it," Ginny wondered, taking the letter back as new tears ran down her cheeks. "Ron's right. She wasn't _here_."

"We have to _look_, we have to ask around!" Arthur said desperately, getting up to throw on his boots and coat. "All those folks who saw him!"

"He said we _can't _find him, and to not try," Molly wondered, sounding to her children very much like Luna Lovegood, and no longer near hysterical. In fact, she looked as if she'd just had an epiphany. "He said _not_ to come looking, don't you see?!"

"Boys, you're with me," Arthur ordered them, as they dressed. "Girls, you get on the Floo and call around! See if anyone's seen him!"

They stopped at the shed first, and they were greeted by a pristine white VW Beetle. It was in mint condition, other than the fact that it had four flat tires. Arthur inflated them with a flick of his wand, and they got in to drive madly through the snow to the Lovegoods'.

"Dad, wasn't the body rotting off of it, when you drove it the first time?" Ron asked, and Arthur could only nod.

"XENO!" Arthur banged on the door when they arrived. "It's Arthur Weasley, your neighbor!"

The Lovegoods came to the door, looking perplexed, which wasn't unusual.

"Happy Christmas, Weasleys, Harry!" Luna greeted them. "Gurdyroot tea?" she offered.

"I _hate _that stuff!" Ron snapped.

"That's them," Xeno nodded. "Come in!"

"Listen, we don't have much time," Arthur explained. "Jakob's gone missing! Has he been here?"

"Who?" Xeno asked.

"The little boy you interviewed for the cover story of the December issue of the Quibbler?" Harry reminded him.

"You mean Cameron Avery?" Xeno corrected him, handing him a copy.

On the cover was Cameron Avery, Jakob's friend. He was sitting near a bright window, and his hand was moving over a chessboard. The caption read:

**SOMEWHERE I BELONG****?**

MEET CAMERON & THE ORPHANS OF WAR

**No One Wants a Mini-Death Eater****?**

"They weren't there, Dad," Ron reminded him, and it looked as if his theory were proving true.

"Arthur, I recall that the Avery boy was going to be placed in care, but he got sick and he's been in St. Mungo's with pneumonia ever since?" Xeno informed him.

"But…Luna, you were there, at the Burrow last night?" Harry persisted. "Jakob gave you a Dirigible Plum ornament that he made?"

"Harry, I remember just perfectly! We had cocoa and biscuits, your Floo is full of Nargles, and we played with baby Teddy!" Luna told them.

They all just stared at her.

"Right, then," Arthur conceded, glancing at Ron, who nodded. "Sorry to trouble you!"

"No trouble at all," Luna showed them to the door.

When they were gone, she turned back to their stubby Christmas tree and reached out to touch a shining handmade yellow ornament that looked like a plum. As the ribbon holding it broke, it floated up to the ceiling. "That's so strange," Luna observed.

At St. Mungo's, as a clock in the receiving room softly chimed seven, Cameron Avery awoke in the children's ward to find a pile of presents at the foot of his bed. He blinked, realizing that his chest didn't hurt and that he wasn't gasping for breath. He pulled the oxygen mask from his face, breathed deeply, and sighed. He realized that he was actually hungry as he leaned up to examine his gifts. "But who would send _me_ presents?" He wondered with a pang, knowing that his family was all gone.

The first one was lumpy, wrapped in green foil paper with a small snake of a tag that waggled its tongue out at him. He tore it open to find the most garish one-piece jumper-pyjama "thing" that he had ever seen. He studied it for a bit, and since he was a bit chilly, and his flimsy gown was very thin and open in the back, he put it on. It was a perfect fit. It was soft and warm, and for some reason, it made him think of home. The next was a yellow and pink package, quite large, and filled with a treasure trove of various **WWW** products. Cameron looked around, quickly ate a Puking Pastille and the antidote, then hid the rest under his pillow before a nurse saw them!

The next box was quite small, and when he opened it, a toy dragon came flying out to land on his shoulder and nuzzle at his neck. It was a Hungarian Horntail, he saw, and the next package was a book called **Darling Dragons**. The tag read, simply, 'from Jack'.

"But who's Jack?" Cameron wondered, just as his door opened and a doctor walked in, accompanied by Percy Weasley and two people that Cameron already knew. They were all shocked at the sight of him, but no one protested. In fact, they all waited until he was done opening his presents. His last one was a colorful jumper with a "J" knitted on the front, but it changed into a "C" when he touched it.

Percy Weasley nodded knowingly. "Lucius, Narcissa, if you'll just sign here, and initial there," he handed them a clipboard. "It looks like your boy here is finally ready to go home!"

"No one remembers him," Molly sniffed, as the men had returned home and put the VW away again. Arthur told her all about the visit with the Lovegoods. "But we all rode to the village in it!" Molly reminded him. "Jakob was so proud he'd helped you get it going!"

Ginny shook her head. "We've called everyone, Dad! Professor McGonagall, Slughorn, Hagrid, even Mrs. Tonks," she informed them, "No one remembers Jakob! Not _even _Madame Pomfrey!"

"I know someone who _will_!" Arthur jerked his head up, his eyes wild. He ran to the Floo. "Charity Burbage Shelter for Displaced Magical Children! Hogsmeade Village, Felicia Thimblebrass, please!" He called into the green flames.

"That location is no longer in service," a somewhat automated voice informed him.

"Harry! You're the DADA teacher, can you get us to Hogwarts?" Arthur demanded. "We're in no fit state for Apparating so far!"

Harry nodded and activated the Floo, still looking a bit rattled himself. "Where are we going from there?" He had to ask.

"To see why the shelter's closed!" Molly surmised, as they all vanished up the Floo.

They arrived at Hogwarts, taking a carriage to the village, but were met with an empty and boarded up storefront where the shelter _should_ have been. There was a sign that read: **"Thank you all for your kindness in finding homes for these unfortunate children! – Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic."**

"Do you mean to _tell_ me that none of it was _real_?" Molly wondered. "Where's Miss Thimblebrass gone, then? Shouldn't they have forwarded our Floo call to her? And what about the donations?"

"Molly, do you mean _Felicia_ Thimblebrass?" Hermione asked, looking as if she'd just aced a final. Molly nodded. "Molly, Felicia was the child of Muggleborns. They…they vanished…during the war. They've been missing and presumed dead for over a year?"

"Then _who_ was running this place?" Arthur waved at the boarded up door. "It was bloody well _here _last August!"

Hermione looked at them all. "Percy," She shrugged. "No one else _wanted_ to do it. If anyone could find homes for all those orphaned Slytherin kids, it was Percy! Don't you remember reading his piece in the Quibbler?"

"I remember _Jakob's_ story!" Ginny disagreed, "About how he was afraid that _we_ didn't want him anymore!"

"The files!" Molly then exclaimed, "The files on the Dolohovs! We still have _them_!"

And so they headed back to Hogwarts to Floo home.

"Ah _hah_!" Arthur exclaimed, as he opened the damning folder.

It was full of blank papers - even Jakob's birth certificate was a blank.

It was as if Jakob Lukas Dolohov…Jakob Frederick Weasley…had never even existed.

"This is all very strange," Hermione stated clinically, as she tried to fathom it all. "You adopted a child of parents who _couldn't _have possibly had a child so old, as they were in prison, and you claim that _we_ all saw him, but that only those here this morning can remember him? And the lady who set up this whole mess is someone who's been missing for over a year – someone who never even _ran_ that shelter? And all the documents pertaining to Jakob are now blank? Even photos of him?" She turned to Harry. "And you claim that _Hedwig_ brought this letter?" She held up Jakob's letter, which to her, was nothing more than a blank bit of parchment.

"Never mind, Hermione," Ron rolled his eyes.

"He was _real_!" Molly then said knowingly, "But his letter said he had to go…I…I think his work _here_ was done, don't you?" She asked wistfully, turning to Arthur. "There was nothing left for _him_ to teach _us_."

She then looked at her remaining children, not really children anymore.

The Burrow was neither quiet nor empty on that Christmas morning.

"Presents!" She then exclaimed happily, placing Jakob's Christmas card on the tree.

In a lonely forest somewhere to the north, covered in new fallen snow, a lonely little pinkish-purple plum ornament dangled in the breeze on the branch of a short spruce tree. Beneath its sheltering boughs, a mouse carried a scrap of faded lavender cloth back to her home.

Later than night, as Molly sat listening to the WWN, a children's choir sang a familiar tune. "The Coventry Carol," She sighed.

_Lullay, Thou little tiny Child,_

_By, by, lully, lullay._

_Lullay, Thou little tiny Child._

By, by, lully, lullay.

When the song was finished, she switched off the radio.

The Burrow was quiet.

The clock ticked on.

In her hand, she clutched Jakob's letter. She arose to place it in her copy of **The Tales of Beedle the Bard**, at the beginning of Babbitty Rabbitty, where it would remain for nineteen years, until another letter came – which didn't surprise Molly at all: _Dear Gran, I just wanted to write and tell you… I've been Sorted into Slytherin with… James didn't take it well at all…Scorpius says hello…Love, Albus._

**December 26****th****, Boxing Day, 1998**

**Northampton, England**.

"I think this is the place," the old man in the blue robe announced, his white beard blowing in the cold wind.

"I think you're right," the young witch in a lavender robe agreed.

"Go on, now!" They encouraged the small boy walking down the sidewalk between them, releasing his hands from theirs.

A small fist knocked on a door, where there hung no wreath. There were no signs of Christmas decorations being up, or being taken down. In fact, the house seemed very quiet and sad, with only one light to be seen in a lower window. Gray clouds scudded across the winter sky overhead, and as the door opened, a thin ray of sunlight fell across the unkempt reddish-brown hair of a little boy. He stood there on the step, dressed in a gray traveling cloak and plain trousers. He carried no baggage, seeming to have turned up on this particular doorstep simply because the cold winter wind had blown him there. He looked at the name on the postbox: **Brown**.

The homeowners, a middle-aged man and woman, stared at him for a moment as if unsure what to do about a lone child on their doorstep.

"Hello, my name is Jack!" The little boy introduced himself with a lopsided smile.

And since it was quite cold out, the Browns invited him in.

THE END 


End file.
